To Live a Life
by placedesiredname
Summary: Seven minutes past midnight, a monster comes walking. Walking right up to my window and destroying my house then eating me alive. But I'm not scared of some mock-monster, because I've faced worse. Now, why is this self-righteous monster telling me that I have to tell it the truth? What truth? I just know that I hate my life. (From 'A Monster Calls' by Patrick Ness)
1. A Life Full of Monsters

Summary: Seven minutes past midnight, a monster comes walking. Walking right up to my window and destroying my house then eating me alive. But I'm not scared of some mock-monster, because I've faced worse. Now why is this self-righteous monster telling me that I have to tell it the truth? What truth? I just know that I hate my life.

Disclaimer: I really just took the story, 'A Monster Calls' from Patrick Ness and just added my own twists to it. Plus these characters belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. 

**A Monster Calls**

The monster showed up just after midnight. As they do.

I was awake when it came. I doubt that makes it any more real, because it's a monster- which is obviously a figment of my imagination.

I was awake because of a nightmare. Well, not _a_ nightmare. _The_ nightmare. The one I've been having a lot lately. The one with the darkness and the wind and the screaming. The one with the hands slipping from his grasp, no matter how hard he tried to hold on. The one that always ended with– "Go away," I whispered into the darkness of his bedroom, trying to push the nightmare back, not letting it follow me into the world of waking. "Go away now."

I glanced over at the clock my mum had put on my bedside table. 12.07. Seven minutes past midnight. Which was late for a school night, late for a Sunday, certainly.

I hadn't told anyone about the nightmares I've been having. Not my mum, obviously, but no one else either, not my dad in our fortnightly (or so) phone call, _definitely_ not my grandpa, and no one at school. Absolutely not.

What happened in the nightmare was something no one else ever needed to know.

I blinked groggily at my room, then frowned. There was something… off. I sat up in bed, waking a bit more. The nightmare was slipping from me, but there was something I couldn't put my finger on, something different, something– I listened, straining against the silence, but all I could hear was the quiet house around me, the occasional tick from the empty downstairs or a rustle of bedding from my mum's room next door.

Nothing.

And then something. It was the thing that had woken me.

Someone was calling my name.

 _Lovino._

I felt a rush of panic, my insides twisting in anticipation. Had it followed me? Had it somehow stepped out of the nightmare and taken form here?

"Don't be stupid," I berated myself. "You're too old for monsters."

And I was. I'd turned thirteen last month. Monsters were for babies. Monsters were for bed-wetters. Monsters were for– _Lovino._

There it was again. I swallowed. It had been an unusually warm October, and my window was still open. Maybe the curtains shushing each other in the small breeze could have sounded like– _Lovino_.

It wasn't the wind, definitely a voice, but not one I recognized. It wasn't my mother's, that was for sure. It wasn't a woman's voice at all, and I wondered for a crazy moment if my dad had somehow made a surprise trip from America and arrived too late to phone and– _Lovino._

No, not my dad. This voice had a _monstrous_ quality, wild and untamed. It exuded the ferociousness of a beast, something that was even larger than life.

Then I heard a heavy creak of wood outside, as if something gigantic was stepping across a timber floor, something so massive that even the thick wooden flooring couldn't hold.

I didn't want to go and look. I just wanted to curl in my covers and will my memories of the nightmare away, but at the same time, a part of me wanted to look more than anything.

Wide awake now, I pushed back the comfortably warm and toasty blanket, got out of bed, and went over to the window. A light breeze sent goosebumps down my skin but it was nothing to my inflamed curiosity. I felt drawn to the presence outside.

In the pale half-light of the moon, I could clearly see the church tower up on the small hill behind his house, the one with the train tracks curving beside it, two hard steel lines glowing dully in the night. The moon shone, too, on the graveyard attached to the church, filled with tombstones worn down to illegibility.

I could also see the great yew tree that rose from the centre of the graveyard, a tree so ancient it almost seemed to be made of the same stone as the church. I only knew it was a yew because Mum told me, first when I was little to make sure I didn't eat the poisonous berries, and again this whole of the past year, when she had started staring out of their kitchen window with a funny look on her face and saying, "That's a yew tree, you know."

And then I heard my name again. _Lovino_ , like it was being whispered into both my ears.

"What?" I said, my heart thumping, suddenly impatient for whatever was going to happen.

A cloud moved in front of the moon, drowning the whole landscape in darkness, and an incomparably large gust of wind rushed down the hill and into my room, billowing the curtains and sending my blank worksheets and papers flying off my desk. I heard the creaking and cracking of wood again, groaning like a living thing, like the hungry stomach of the world growling for a meal.

Then the cloud passed, and the moon shone again, on the yew tree, which now stood firmly in the middle of the back garden. And here was the monster.

As I watched in a daze, the uppermost branches of the tree gathered themselves into a great and terrible face, shimmering into a mouth and nose and even eyes, peering back at me. Other branches twisted around one another, always creaking and groaning, until they formed two long arms and a second leg to set down beside the main trunk. The rest of the tree gathered itself into a spine and then a torso, the thin, needle-like leaves weaving together to make a green, furry skin that moved and breathed as if there were muscles and lungs underneath.

Already taller than the window, the monster grew wider as it brought itself together, filling out to a powerful shape, one that looked somehow strong, somehow _mighty_. It trained its gaze on me the whole time, and I could hear the loud, windy breathing from its mouth. It set its giant hands on either side of his window, lowering its head until its huge eyes filled the frame, holding me paralysed with its glare. I could feel the house gave a little moan under its weight.

And then the monster spoke.

 _Lovino Vargas_ , it said, a huge gust of warm, compost-smelling breath rushing through the window, blowing my hair back. Its voice rumbled low and loud, with a vibration so deep it shuddered in my chest.

 _I have come to get you, Lovino Vargas_ , the monster said, pushing against the house, sending books and electronic gadgets and an old stuffed tomato toy tumbling to the floor.

A monster, I thought. A real, honest-to-goodness monster. In real, waking life. Not in a dream, but here, at my window, staring right at me. Coming to get me.

But I didn't run. In fact, I wasn't even frightened. All I could feel, all I had felt since the monster revealed itself, was a growing disappointment.

Because this wasn't the monster I was expecting.

"So come and get me then."

– • –

A strange quiet fell.

 _What did you say?_ the monster asked.

I crossed my arms. "I said, come and get me then."

The monster paused for a moment, and then with a roar it pounded two fists against the house. The ceiling buckled under the blows and huge cracks appeared in the walls. Wind filled the room, the air thundering with the monster's angry bellows.

"Shout all you want," I shrugged, barely raising my voice. "I've seen worse."

The monster roared even louder and smashed an arm through the window, shattering glass and wood and brick. A huge, twisted, branch-wound hand grabbed me around the middle and lifted me off the floor. Even the sudden loss of ground failed to send anything other than deep disappointment through me. I was swung out of my room and into the night, high above the back garden, holding me up against the circle of the moon, its fingers clenching so hard against my ribs I could barely breathe. I could see raggedy teeth made of hard, knotted wood in the monster's open mouth, and there was warm breath rushing up towards me. It smelt of dirt and mud, and that faint scent of yew wood.

Then the monster paused again.

 _You really aren't afraid, are you?_

"No," I uttered, saying the truth. "Not of you, anyway."

The monster narrowed its eyes.

 _You will be,_ it said. _Before the end._

And the last thing I remembered was the monster's mouth roaring open to eat me alive. 

AN This fic will have ten chapters, excluding this prologue and the epilogue.


	2. My Normal Life

Summary: Seven minutes past midnight, a monster comes walking. Walking right up to my window and destroying my house then eating me alive. But I'm not scared of some mock-monster, because I've faced worse. Now why is this self-righteous monster telling me that I have to tell it the truth? What truth? I just know that I hate my life.

Disclaimer: I really just took the story, 'A Monster Calls' from Patrick Ness and just added my own twists to it. Plus these characters belong to Hidekaz Himaruya.

AN I'm quite proud of how I separated this story into chapters, each with 3-4 small segments that tie together nicely with the chapter title. If this chapter seems sleepy, well just look at the chapter title. This story won't be too long and draggy, don't worry.

Warnings: fem!Spain, fem!America although she doesn't actually appear but who knows I may change my mind, past UKSpain, Gilbert and Francis being bullies but hey they're 13 and Gilbert actually has a reason, though that won't be revealed. (Tbh, I haven't come up with a reason yet. Author goals amirite)

Last Chapter Summary: In a nightmare- was it a nightmare?- a monster came walking. It called my name, promised me that I would come to fear it and ate me.

 **Breakfast**

"Mum?"

I knew she wouldn't be in the kitchen – I couldn't hear the kettle boiling, which she always did first thing – but now I'm asking for her a lot lately whenever I entered rooms in the house. I didn't want to startle her, just in case she'd fallen asleep somewhere she hadn't planned to.

But she wasn't in the kitchen. Which meant she was probably still up in her bed. Which meant that I'd have to make my own breakfast, something I've grown used to doing. Fine. Good, in fact, especially this morning. I had something to get rid of this morning.

I walked quickly to the bin, then stuffed the plastic bag I was carrying down near the bottom, covering it up with other rubbish so it wouldn't be obvious. There was no way I could explain that if it was found.

"There," I muttered to no one and stood breathing for a second. With a nod to myself, I stated, "Breakfast."

Some bread in the toaster, some cereal in a bowl, some juice in a glass, and I was ready to go, sitting down at the little table in the kitchen to eat. Mum had her own bread and cereal which she bought at a health food shop in town and which I thankfully didn't have to share. It tasted as unhappy as it looked. I don't even get why she did that- she looked as young as ever and had a well-kept figure to me, but it wasn't my problem anyways.

Looking up at the clock, it told me twenty-five minutes before I had to leave. Already in my ugly school uniform and with my rucksack packed for the day and waiting by the front door I could already leave the house which screamed of loneliness and nightmares. I didn't though, there was even more loneliness and nightmares awaiting in school.

I sat with my back to the kitchen window, the one over the sink that looked out onto their small back garden, across the train tracks and up to the church with its graveyard and yew tree.

The yew tree.

It had been a dream. What else could it have been?

When I had opened my eyes this morning, the first thing I had done was to look at was my window. It had still been there, of course, no damage at all, no gaping hole into the back garden. Of course it had. Only a baby would have thought it really happened. Only a baby would believe that a tree – seriously, a tree – had walked down the hill and attacked the house.

I had laughed a little at the thought, at how stupid it all was, and I had stepped out of bed.

To the sound of a crunch beneath my feet.

Every inch of the bedroom floor was covered in short, spiky yew tree leaves. Impossible. The yew tree was a mile away, there weren't any other yew tree leaves lying outside so how?

I was definitely not looking at the rubbish bin, where I had stuffed the plastic bag full of leaves I'd swept up this morning first thing.

It had been a windy night. They'd clearly blown in through his open window. Any other leaves that landed outside were blown away once again.

Clearly.

Still twenty minutes to go. I decided to empty the rubbish bin altogether – less risky that way – and took the bag out to the large bin in front of the house. Since I was already making the trip, I might as well gather up the recycling and put that out, too. Then I got a load of sheets going in the washer that I'd hang out on the line when I got back from school. It was amazing how less than a year ago I didn't even know how to crack an egg because of my ban from housework due to the untold havoc a wrecked when I was a child made to do small chores. My inability would have continued into adulthood had Mum still been doing everything in the house.

I went back to the kitchen and looked at the clock.

Still ten minutes left.

Still no sign of–

"Lovi?"

It was a breathy whisper, probably from all the way at the top of the stairs, but I heard it so clearly I could finally let out the long breath I hadn't realized I was holding in.

– • –

"You've had breakfast?" Mum asked, leaning against the kitchen doorframe. She seems to be looking better than last evening, she's definitely making progress.

"Yes, Mum," I answered, prepared to leave now, rucksack already in hand.

"You're sure?"

"Yes, Mum."

She looked at me with doubt in her eyes. Rolling my eyes, I reaffirmed, "Toast and cereal and juice. I put the dishes in the dishwasher."

"And took the rubbish out," she said quietly, looking at how neat he'd left the kitchen. It was always a simple clean-up nowadays, I don't have half of her cooking talent which made use of all those complicated utensils and machines.

"There's washing going, too."

"You're a good boy," she said, and even though she was smiling, I could hear sadness in it, too. "I'm sorry I wasn't up."

"It's okay."

"It's just this new round of–"

"Stop it. I said it's okay." I've had enough of niceties.

She stopped, but she still smiled back. She hadn't tied her scarf around her head yet this morning, and her bare scalp looked too soft, too fragile in the morning light, like a baby's. It made my stomach hurt to see it. She used to have such stunningly beautiful, brown tresses that she'd tie into a bun. I kind of regret not ever saying that to her. But it's okay, once she grows her hair back I'd make sure to.

"Was that you I heard last night?" she asked.

I froze. "When?"

"Sometime after midnight, must have been," she said, shuffling over to switch on the kettle. "I thought I was dreaming but I could have sworn I heard your voice."

"Probably just talking in my sleep," I stated flatly.

"Probably," Mum yawned. She took a mug off the rack hanging by the fridge. "I forgot to tell you," she said, lightly, "your Nonno's coming by tomorrow."

My shoulders sank and I felt my face instinctively scrunch up into a frown. "Mum."

"I know," she said, "but you shouldn't have to make your own breakfast every morning."

"Every morning?" I questioned. "How long is he going to be here?"

"Lovi–"

"We don't need him here–"

"You know how I get at this point in the treatments, Lovi–"

"We've been okay so far–" I could already feel my face heating up and reddening. Huh. Usually, at this point she'd comment on how I look like a tomato and I'd yell at her.

"Lovino," she snapped, so harshly it seemed to surprise them both. There was a long silence. And then she smiled again, looking really, really tired. I'd never admit it but I wished at that moment that she would go back to how it was and say that I was her precious tomato. At least then I'd know that she cared.

"I'll try to keep it as short as possible, okay?" she said. "I know you don't like giving up your room, and I'm sorry. I wouldn't have asked her if I didn't need her to come, all right?"

I had to sleep on the settee every time Nonno came to stay. But that wasn't it. I didn't like the way he _looked_ at me like he was remembering someone else and was mentally comparing me to them. I knew that I was always the worse one. Plus, we had always managed so far, just the two of us, no matter how bad the treatments made her feel, it was the price she paid to get better, so why–?

"Only a couple of nights," Mum said, as if she could read my mind. "Don't worry, okay?"

I picked at the zip on my rucksack, not saying anything, trying to think of other things, trying to avoid snapping at her because nowadays she just looked so, so tired. And then I remembered the bag of leaves stuffed into the rubbish bin.

Maybe Nonno staying in my room wasn't the worst thing that could happen.

"There's the smile I love," Mum said, though I swear I wasn't smiling, not even an eensy bit. I would usually have gone crimson and hit her- lightly I swear- but I had stopped doing that months ago.

"I'm going to be late," I said, eyeing the clock.

"Okay, sweetheart," she said, teetering over to kiss me on the forehead, also something I had only just recently allowed. "You're a good boy," she said again. "I wish you didn't have to be quite so good."

Good? As if I'd been anything but all my life.

As I left to head off to school, I saw her take her tea over to the kitchen window above the sink, and when I opened the front door to leave, I heard her say, "There's that old yew tree," as if she was talking to herself.

 **School**

I could already taste the blood in my mouth as I got up. Having bitten the inside of my lip when I hit the ground, it was what I was focusing on now as I stood, the strange metallic flavour that made me want to spit it out immediately like I'd eaten something that wasn't food at all.

I swallowed it instead. Gilbert and his playmate would have been thrilled beyond words if they knew I was bleeding. I could hear Francis snickering behind him, knew exactly the look on Gilbert's face, even though I couldn't see it. I could probably even guess what Gilbert would say next in that impetuous, absurd voice of his that had such a thick German accent like his idiot of a brother.

"Be careful of the steps there," Gilbert hooted. "You might fall."

Yep, that'd be about right.

It hadn't always been like this.

Gilbert was the Albino Wonder Child, with a brother who was the Blond Wonder Child, but to me, they were both potato-heads. The albino was somehow gifted with the ability to do pretty much everything perfectly, so even though he regularly skirted around the school rules and disrespected authority, they always turned a blind eye. Francis, on the other hand could single-handedly charm his way through even the strictest of teachers with his eloquence and butt-kissing. It didn't help that Gilbert's brother was the teachers' pet through every year of school, the first pupil with his hand in the air, the fastest player on the football pitch, but for all that, just another kid in my class.

Being in the grade higher, I had no idea why Gilbert, and therefore Francis took any notice of me. Bar the fact that I was constantly calling the Blond Wonder Child names and ridiculing him all my life- after all, he is ridiculous- I had absolutely no relation to Gilbert.

Somewhere over the past year, though, something had changed. Gilbert had started noticing me, catching my eye, looking at me with a detached amusement; as if I were prey to be played with before the kill.

This change hadn't come when everything started with my mum. No, it had come later, when I had started having the nightmare, the real nightmare, not the stupid tree, the nightmare with the screaming and the falling, the nightmare he would never tell another living soul about. When I started having that nightmare, that's when Gilbert noticed him, like a secret mark had been placed on me that only he could see.

A mark that drew Gilbert to me like iron to a magnet.

On the first day of the new school year, I was tripped coming into the school grounds, sending me tumbling to the pavement.

And so it had begun.

And so it had continued.

– • –

I kept my back turned as Gilbert and Francis laughed. I felt my blood boil, as always. Why was he doing this to me? Isn't it enough what I have on my plate at home? I tried to keep calm, knowing that even if I lashed out worse would come. When did I become such a coward?

I ran my tongue along the inside of my lip to see how bad the bite was. Not terrible. I'd live, if I could make it to Form without anything further happening.

But then something further happened.

"Leave him alone!" I heard, wincing at the sound.

I turned and saw Bella Mogens pushing her furious face into Gilbert's, which only made Francis laugh even harder.

"I see that the dashing prince has come to save the defenseless maiden," Gilbert smirked in that idiotic way that made me want to punch him even more. If Bella wasn't there I probably would have, regardless of the consequences.

"I'm just making it a fair fight," she huffed, her blonde curls bouncing around and falling into her face, no matter how tightly she'd tied them back. A year ago I would have blushed at the sight.

"He's bleeding, Gil," Francis said, having stopped his honhonhons and sauntered up to Bella.

I put my hand up to my mouth too late to catch a bit of blood coming out of the corner.

"So I guess your baldy mother has to kiss it all better for you!" Gilbert crowed.

My stomach contracted to a ball of fire, like a little sun burning him up from the inside, but before he could react, Bella did. With a cry of outrage, she pushed an astonished Gilbert into the shrubbery, toppling him all the way over.

"Bella Mogens!" came the voice of doom from halfway across the yard.

They froze. Even Gilbert paused in the act of getting up. Mr Germania, their Head of Year, was storming over to them, his scariest frown burnt into his face like a scar. It probably was a scar by now because his face was always like that. He didn't even lighten up when giving his grandsons some kind of award for something that was probably useless.

"They started it, Sir," Bella said, already defending herself.

"I don't want to hear it," Mr Germania said. "Are you alright, Beilschmidt?"

Gilbert shot a quick glance at Bella, then got a pained look across his face. "I don't know," he said. "I might need to go home."

"Don't milk it," Mr Germania said sternly. "To my office, Mogens."

"But Sir, they were–"

"Now, Mogens."

"They were making fun of Lovino's mother!"

This made everyone freeze again, and the burning sun in my stomach grew hotter, ready to eat me alive. I couldn't even imagine what I must look like on the outside.

(–and in my mind, I felt a flash of the nightmare, of the howling wind, of the burning blackness–) I pushed it away.

"Is this true, Vargas?" Mr Germania asked, his face as serious as a sermon.

The blood on my tongue made me want to throw up. I looked over to Gilbert and Francis. Francis seemed worried, but Gilbert just stared back at him, unruffled and with an eyebrow raised, like he was genuinely curious as to what I might say.

"No, Sir, it's not true," I said, swallowing the blood. "I just fell. They were helping me up."

Bella's face turned instantly into hurt surprise. Her mouth dropped open, but she made no sound. It wasn't all that nice knowing that I just caused a girl to be punished for a crime she did not commit, but I knew that she had done worse to me.

"Get to your Forms," Mr Germania said. "Except for you, Bella."

Bella kept looking back at me as she was pulled away, but I turned from her, only to find Francis holding my rucksack out for me.

"Well done, Vargas," Francis said.

I said nothing, just took the bag from him roughly and made my way inside. Inside where even more demons laid.

 **Life Writing**

Stories, I thought with dread as I walked home.

It was after school, and I had made my escape. I somehow got through the rest of the day avoiding Gilbert and the Francis, though they probably knew better than to risk causing me another "accident" so soon after nearly getting caught by Mr Germania. I had also avoided Bella, whom I saw with red, puffy eyes and a scowl you could hang meat from. It was very unfitting of her. I had felt a knot of guilt then but brushed it off then. When the final bell went, I had rushed out fast, feeling the burden of school and of Gilbert and of Bella drop from my shoulders as I put one street and then another between myself and all of that.

Stories, I thought again.

"Your stories," Ms Shells had said in their English lesson. "Don't think you haven't lived long enough to have a story to tell."

Life writing, she called it, an assignment for them to write about themselves. Their family tree, where they'd lived, holiday trips and happy memories.

Important things that had happened.

I shifted my rucksack on my shoulder, deliberating. I could think of a couple of important things that had happened. Nothing I wanted to write about, though. My faint memories of a happy little boy who looked just like me. Dad leaving. The cat wandering off one day and never coming back. The afternoon when Mum said they needed to have a little talk. The day after that…

I frowned and kept walking.

But then again, I also remembered the day before that afternoon. Mum had taken me to that authentic Italian restaurant and let me order as much as I wanted. Then she had laughed at all the tomatoes in my dishes and said, "Why the hell not?" and ordered plates of it for herself, too, though I still stole the tomatoes off that. She had let me even though she loved tomatoes herself. Said that I was her tomato and that was enough… I had kicked her and scowled but that bubbly feeling inside of me followed me even to the drive back home.

I felt myself smile just thinking about it. Then it melted into my ordinary grimace because it hadn't been a drive home. It had been a surprise trip to the cinema on a school night, to a film I had already seen four times but knew Mum was sick to death of. There they were, though, sitting through it again, eating buckets of popcorn and with Mum's laughter and squeals resonating through the large cinema theatre.

I wasn't stupid. When they had had the "little talk" the next day, I knew what Mum had done and why she had done it. But that didn't take away from how much fun that night had been. How hard they'd laughed. How anything had seemed possible. How anything good could have happened to them right then and there and they wouldn't have been surprised.

But I wasn't going to be writing about that either.

"Hey!" A voice calling behind him made him groan. "Hey, Lovi, wait!"

Bella.

"Hey!" she repeated, catching up with me and planting herself right in the way so I had to stop or run into her. She was out of breath, but her face was still furious. "Why did you do that today?" she said.

"Leave me alone and don't call me Lovi," I admonished, pushing past her.

"Why didn't you tell Mr Germania what really happened?" Bella persisted, following me. "Why did you get me into trouble?"

"Why did you butt in when it was none of your business?"

"I was trying to help you."

"I don't need your help," I rebuked. "I was doing fine on my own."

"You were not!" Bella refuted. "You were bleeding."

"It's none of your business," I snapped again and picked up my pace. Since when was Bella so annoying?

"I've got detention all week," Bella complained. "And a note home to my parents. Just because I was trying to help you."

"That's not my problem."

"But it's your fault."

I stopped suddenly and turned to her. My eyebrows were knitted together and my glare must have been so ferocious that she stepped back, startled, almost like she was afraid. "It's your fault," I said. "It's all your fault." And it was.

Storming off back down the pavement, I heard Bella call after me, "We used to be friends."

"Used to be," I said without turning around.

I'd known Bella forever. Or for as long as I could remember, which was basically the same thing.

My mum and her dad were friends from before we were born, and Bella had been like a cooing elder sister who lived in another house, especially when Mum babysitted when Uncle Tim was too busy, something about his business and money matters. It was embarrassing to admit that I had something of a crush on her back then. She was the only girl I knew who would talk to me then- any cute girl I approached shot me down as simple as that. I was kind of scared of Uncle Tim which was why I never did say anything. Certainly not because I was too shy. Even with that tiny crush our friendship faded to nil about a year ago.

When Mum's "little talk" had happened, and what came next was straightforward, really, and sudden.

No one knew.

Then Bella's dad knew, of course.

Then Bella knew.

And then everyone knew. Everyone. Which changed the whole world in a single day.

And I was never going to forgive her for that.

Another street and another street more and there was my house, small but detached. It had been the one thing my mother had insisted on in the divorce, that it was theirs free and clear and they wouldn't have to move after my father had left for America to be with Allison, the new wife. That had been six years ago, so long now that I sometimes couldn't remember what it was like having a dad in the house. We didn't even share last names anymore, being Isabel Vargas and Lovino Vargas now. Mum had wanted to keep Arthur Kirkland as far away as possible, though why to such extent I couldn't really understand because most of everything happened before he left.

Didn't mean I still didn't think about it, though. I didn't very much like Dad for leaving Mum along with some American hussy to her country, but he wasn't that bad a father to be, just very disagreeable with Mum. I think it's even comparable to the Spanish Armada and England.

I looked up past his house to the hill beyond, the church steeple poking up into the cloudy sky.

And the yew tree hovering over the graveyard like a sleeping giant.

I forced myself to keep looking at it, because it was most definitely a tree, a tree like any other, like any one of those that lined the railway track.

A tree that, as I watched, reared up a giant face to look at me in the sunlight, its arms reaching out, its voice saying, Lovino- I stepped back so fast, I nearly fell into the street, catching myself on the bonnet of a parked car.

When I looked back up, it was just a tree again. Most definitely just a tree.


	3. My Abnormal Life

Summary: Seven minutes past midnight, a monster comes walking. Walking right up to my window and destroying my house then eating me alive. But I'm not scared of some mock-monster, because I've faced worse. Now why is this self-righteous monster telling me that I have to tell it the truth? What truth? I just know that I hate my life.

Disclaimer: I really just took the story, 'A Monster Calls' from Patrick Ness and just added my own twists to it. Plus these characters belong to Hidekaz Himaruya.

AN fanfiction dot net just got restricted on my laptop cri. Coincidentally- or maybe not- just a few days before someone had shouted that fanfiction was her obsession during assembly...

Last Chapter Summary: When I woke up, there were leaves scattered on the bedroom floor. Coincidence? Anyways, I had breakfast before my cancer-ridden mum, then left for school, where I got 'helped'- *cough*punched by Gilbert and 'saved'-*cough*no by Bella. She was the one who messed up my school life. But eh, life writing sucks anyways, who would want to write a story about themself? Not me, I'm not interesting enough.

 **Three Stories**

I lay in my bed that night, wide awake, watching the clock on my bedside table.

It had been the slowest evening imaginable. Cooking frozen lasagne had tired Mum out significantly, but even then she made it through dinner before retreating into her room. I hated how she forced herself so much, and how she had so little energy that she should recover fully before she allows herself off her bed.

Mum's mobile had gone off once, not waking her. I saw that it was Bella's dad calling and let it go to voicemail. I did schoolwork at the kitchen table, stopping before I got to Ms Shell's Life Writing homework, then played around on the internet for a while in my room before brushing my teeth and finally allowing myself to bed. I had barely turned out the light when Mum had very apologetically – and very groggily – came in to kiss me good night. And that was all she did. I hated that too.

A few minutes later, I heard her in the bathroom, throwing up.

I was used to it. It was always the second and third days after the treatments that were the worst, always the days when she was the most tired, when she threw up the most. It had almost become normal. I still couldn't help that rush of panic and helplessness that flowed through me when I heard her though. I couldn't bring myself to say anything, however. I hated that.

After a while, the throwing up had stopped. I heard the bathroom light click off and her bedroom door shut.

That was two hours ago. I had lain awake since then, waiting. But for what?

My bedside clock read 12.05. Then it read 12.06. I looked over to my bedroom window, shut tight even though the night was still warm. My clock ticked over to 12.07.

I got up, went over to the window and looked out. The monster stood in the garden, looking right back at me.

 _Open up_ , the monster said, its voice as clear as if the window wasn't between them. _I want to talk to you._

"Yeah, sure," I said, keeping my voice low. "Because that's what monsters always want. To talk."

The monster smiled. It was a ghastly sight. _If I must force my way in_ , it said, _I will do so happily._

It raised a gnarled woody fist to punch through the wall of the bedroom.

"No!" I shouted quietly, if that was even possible. "I don't want you to wake my mum."

 _Then come outside_ , the monster said, and even in my room, my nose filled with the moist smell of earth and wood and sap.

"What do you want from me?" I said.

The monster pressed its face close to the window.

 _It is not what I want from you, Lovino Vargas_ , it said. _It is what_ you _want from_ me.

"I don't want anything from you," I told it.

 _Not yet_ , said the monster. _But you will._

"It's only a dream," I assured myself in the back garden, looking up at the monster silhouetted against the moon in the night sky. I folded my arms tightly against my body, not because it was cold, but because I couldn't actually believe I had tiptoed down the stairs, unlocked the back door and came outside.

I still felt calm. Which was weird. This nightmare – because it was surely a nightmare, of course it was – was so different from the other nightmare.

No terror, no panic, no darkness, for one thing. No screaming, no loss of warmth, no feeling of being rooted to the ground, helpless-

And yet here was a monster, clear as the clearest night, towering ten or fifteen metres above him, breathing heavily in the night air.

"It's only a dream," I said again.

 _But what is_ _a dream, Lovino Vargas?_ the monster said, bending down so its face was close to mine. It was strange how realistic this dream was, that I could count the grains of wood that look so deeply imprinted- _Who is to say that it is not everything_ _**else**_ _that_ _is the dream?_

Every time the monster moved, I could hear the creak of wood, groaning and yawning in the monster's huge body. I could see, too, the power in the monster's arms, great wiry ropes of branches constantly twisting and shifting together in what must have been some kind of tree muscle, connected to a massive trunk of a chest, topped by a head and teeth that could chomp him down in one bite.

"What are you?" I asked, pulling his arms closer around himself.

 _I am not a "what"_ , frowned the monster. _I am a "who"_.

"Who are you, then?" I said, still in disbelief, just entertaining it because this was just a dream.

The monster's eyes widened. _Who am I?_ it said, its voice getting louder. _**Who am I?**_

The monster seemed to grow before my eyes, getting taller and broader. A sudden, hard wind swirled up around them, and the monster spread its arms out wide, so wide they seemed to reach to opposite horizons, so wide they seemed big enough to encompass the world.

 _I have had as many names as there are years to time itself!_ roared the monster. _I am Herne the Hunter! I am Cernunnos! I am the eternal Green Man!_

A great arm swung down and snatched me up in it, lifting me high in the air, the wind whirling around them, making the monster's leafy skin wave angrily. This was where I just knew that this was a dream, for I felt no fright or terror.

 _Who am I?_ the monster repeated, still roaring. _I am the spine that the mountains hang upon! I am the tears that the rivers cry! I am the lungs that breathe the wind! I am the wolf that kills the stag, the hawk that kills the mouse, the spider that kills the fly! I am the stag, the mouse and the fly that are eaten! I am the snake devouring its tail! I am everything untamed and untameable!_ It brought me up close to its eye. _I am this wild earth, come for you, Lovino Vargas._

"You look like a tree," I simply replied.

The monster squeezed me until I cried out in pain.

 _I do not often come walking, boy_ , the monster said, _only for matters of life and death. I expect to be listened to._

The monster loosened its grip and I could breathe again. "So what do you want with me?" I asked, getting tired with going with its games.

The monster gave an evil grin. The wind died down and a quiet fell. _At last_ , said the monster. _To the matter at hand. The reason I have come walking._

I tensed, suddenly dreading what was coming.

 _Here is what will happen, Lovino Vargas_ , the monster continued, _I will come to you again on further nights._

My stomach clenched, like my body was preparing for a blow.

 _And I will tell you three stories. Three tales from when I walked before._

I blinked. Then blinked again. "You're going to tell me _stories_?"

 _Indeed_ , the monster said.

"Well–" I looked around in disbelief. "How is that a nightmare?"

 _Stories are the wildest things of all,_ the monster rumbled. _Stories chase and bite and hunt._

"That's what teachers always say. No one believes them either." I seriously couldn't get this mock-monster. If this the worst my mind could give? And then I remembered that nightmare. What did that have to do with this? Who am I even questioning? Am I seriously just asking myself?

 _And when I have finished my three stories_ , the monster said, as if I hadn't spoken, _you will tell me a fourth._

I squirmed in the monster's hand. "I'm no good at stories."

 _You will tell me a fourth_ , the monster repeated, _and it will be the truth._

"The truth?"

 _Not just any truth._ Your _truth._

"O-kay," I said, "but you said I'd be scared before the end of all this, and that doesn't sound scary at all."

 _You know that is not true,_ the monster said. _You know that your truth, the one that you hide, Lovino Vargas, is the thing you are most afraid of, the one your mind has hidden from you, the one that you hid yourself._

I stopped squirming. It couldn't mean–

There was no _way_ it could mean–

There was no way it could know _that_.

But this was a dream. Something from my own mind.

No. _No_. I was _never_ going to say what happened in the real nightmare. Never in a million years. Not even to myself.

 _You will tell it_ , the monster said. _For this is why you called me._

I grew even more confused. "Called you? I didn't call you–"

 _You will tell me the fourth tale. You will tell me the truth._

"And what if I don't?" I questioned, suddenly unsure of myself.

The monster gave the evil grin again. _Then I will eat you alive._

And its mouth opened impossibly wide, wide enough to eat the whole world, wide enough to make me disappear forever– I sat up in bed with a shout.

My bed. I was back in his bed.

Of course it was a dream. Of course it was. Again _._

I sighed angrily and rubbed my eyes with the heels of my hands. How was I ever going to get any rest if my dreams were going to be this tiring? Why did my mind have so be such a scumbag?

 _I'll get myself a drink of water,_ he thought as he threw back the covers. _I'd get up and start this night over again, forgetting all this stupid dream business that made no sense whatso–_ Something squished under my foot.

I switched on the lamp. The floor was covered in poisonous red yew tree berries.

Which had all somehow come in through a closed and locked window.

 **Mio Nonno, Roma**

"Are you being a good boy for your mum?"

Nonno slapped me on the back so hard I stumbled. If I didn't know any better he would look to be in his 40s, late 50s at most, his Herculean strength and boisterous spirit helped none. I guess longevity ran in genetics.

"He's been very good, Papa," Mum assured, winking at me from behind Nonno, her favourite greenish-brown scarf that was said to match my eyes perfectly was tied around her head. "So there's no need to inflict quite so much pain."

"Oh, nonsense," Nonno heartily said, giving me two playful slaps on each cheek that actually hurt quite a lot. I couldn't stand this anymore. One more and I swear I'd kick him back. It's not like he can't take it.

"Why don't you go and put the kettle on for me and your mum?" he said, making it sound not like a question at all.

I began to leave the room right after hearing that, not because I was following orders or anything but because I wanted to. Not because I was scared of another painful 'pat' or anything. Nonno placed his hands on his hips and looked thoughtfully at Mum. "Now then, mia figlia," I heard him say as I went into the kitchen. "What _are_ we going to do with you?"

Nonno wasn't like other grandfathers. He didn't have white, balding hair and flabby, liver-spotted skin. He didn't spend his time gardening or fishing and certainly didn't live in some homely but tiny house with a mahjong set.

He wore tailored trouser suits, worked out regularly, still went to shady places like nightclubs as though he didn't have a pleasant but short-lasting marriage with the beautiful Grecian Akantha. He would argue with waiters over wine, eat all kinds of expensive stuff on a daily basis and wore a red cape to sleep. That cape would be hung on an ancient-looking set of armor otherwise. And that armor came with rusty old shields and _swords_. He lived in some mansion modelled after the Roman Colosseum! Everything inside seemed to be from aeons ago, and could probably be sold for millions because they sure looked like the real thing. I could go on and on about how _weird_ he was but I think I've made my point.

"Two sugars, no milk," he called from the sitting room as I made the tea. As if I didn't already know that from the last three thousand times he'd visited.

"Thank you, bambino," Nonno said, when I brought in the tea.

"Thank you, Lovi," Mum said, smiling at me out of view of Nonno, still inviting me to join with her. I couldn't help myself, I smiled back a little.

"And how was school today?" Nonno asked.

"Fine," I said.

It hadn't really been _fine_ , but it would do. Bella was still fuming, Gilbert had put a marker pen with its cap off deep in my rucksack, and Mr Germania had pulled me aside to ask, with a serious look on his face, How I Was Holding Up. Not to mention just about everyone else in school with their oh so well-hidden looks and gossip. It was just the usual after all.

"You know," my Nonno said, setting down his cup of tea and face melding into his serious look, "there's a tremendous international boys' school not half a mile from my house. I've been looking into it, and the academic standards are quite high, much higher than he's getting at the comprehensive, I'm sure."

I stared at him. Because this was the other reason I didn't like Nonno visiting. What he'd just said could have been him being a snob about my local school. Or it could have been more. It could have been a hint about a possible future. A possible _after_.

I felt anger rising in the pit of my stomach.

"He's happy where he is, Papa," Mum said, quickly, giving me another look. "Aren't you, Lovi?"

I gritted my teeth and answered, "I'm fine right where I am."

Dinner was Chinese take-away. Nonno "didn't really cook". This was true. Every time I stayed with him, the fridge had held barely anything more than an egg and half an avocado. He always had his hired helper make food and bring it. Otherwise he'd usually eat out at some fancy restaurant, probably with some young girl he really shouldn't be with at his age. Mum was still too tired to cook herself, and though I could have made something, it didn't seem to occur to my Nonno that this was even a possibility. Another aspect of Nonno that I find weird- only ever eating the best of food or the worst.

I had been left with the clean-up, though, and I was shoving the foil packages down onto the bag of poisonous berries I'd hidden at the bottom of the rubbish bin when Nonno came in behind me.

"You and I need to have a talk, my boy," he said, standing in the doorway and blocking my escape.

"I have a name, you know," I said, pushing down on the bin. "And it's not my boy." Well it wasn't exactly 'my tomato' either, as it usually was.

"Less of your cheek," Nonno said. I stood there, arms folded. I glared at him for a minute. He stared back. Apparently, today was no-fooling-around day, because I fully expected him to burst out into tears and try to hug me. But then he made a tutting sound. "I'm not your enemy, Lovino," he said. "I'm here to help your mother."

"I know why you're here," I said, taking out a cloth to wipe an already clean countertop.

"Lovino."

"Just go," I said firmly. "We don't need you here."

"Lovino," he said with an exasperated sigh, "we need to talk about what's going to happen."

"No, we don't. She's always sick after the treatments. She'll be better tomorrow." I glared at her. "And then you can go home."

Nonno looked up at the ceiling and exhaled deeply. Then he rubbed his face with his hands, and I was surprised to see that he was angry, really angry.

But maybe not at me.

I continued to wipe, because the table still had some not-shiny-enough spots and not because I wanted an escape from looking at Nonno. I wiped all the way over to the sink and happened to glance out of the window. The monster was standing in the back garden, big as the setting sun.

Watching me.

"She'll seem better tomorrow," Nonno said, his voice huskier, "but she won't be, Lovino."

Well, this was just wrong. I turned back to him. "The treatments are making her better," I affirmed. "That's why she goes."

Nonno just looked at me for a long minute, like he was trying to decide something, with a look somewhat of pity. He had better hope that wasn't pity, because Lovino Vargas is definitely not one to be pitied, especially not by his own grandfather. "You need to talk to her about this, Lovino," he finally said. Then he said, as if to himself, "She needs to talk about this with you."

"Talk to me about what?" I asked, but not really expecting an answer.

He looked grim but steadfast. "About you coming to live with me."

I frowned, and for a second the whole room seemed to get darker, for a second it felt like the whole house was shaking, for a second it felt like I could reach down and tear the whole floor right out of the dark and loamy earth–

I blinked. Nonno was still waiting for a response.

"I'm not going to live with you," I simply stated.

"Lovino-"

"I'm never going to live with you." _That place was where memories of the boy who looked like me came back to form a headache in me. That's what I don't like about that place._

"Yes, you are," he said. "I'm sorry, but you are. And I know she's trying to protect you, but I think it's vitally important for you to know that when this is all over, you've got a home, my boy. With someone who loves you and cares for you."

"When this is all over," I said, fury in my voice, "you'll leave and we'll be fine."

"Lovino-"

And then they both heard from the sitting room, "Mum? _Mum?_ "

Nonno rushed out of the kitchen so fast, I jumped back in surprise. I could hear Mum coughing and him soothing, "It's okay, mia figlia, it's okay, shh, shh, shh." I glanced back out of the kitchen window on my way to the sitting room.

The monster was gone.

Nonno was on the settee, holding on to Mum, rubbing her back as she threw up into a small bucket they kept nearby just in case.

He looked up at me, but his face was set and hard and totally unreadable.

 **The Wildness of Stories**

The house was dark. Nonno had finally got Mum to bed and then had gone into my bedroom, asking if his cute grandson wanted anything. Pssht. I kicked him out after that.

I lay awake on the settee, thinking that I really won't be able to sleep, not with the things Nonno had said, not with how Mum had looked tonight. It was a full three days after the treatment, about the time she usually started feeling better, except she was still throwing up, still exhausted, for far longer than she should have been–

I pushed the thoughts out of my head but they returned and I had to push them away again. I must have eventually drifted off, but the only way I really knew I was asleep was when the nightmare came.

No, not the stupid tree. The _nightmare_.

With the wind roaring and the ground shaking and the hands holding tight but still somehow slipping away, with me using all my strength but it still not being enough, with the grip losing itself, with the falling, with the screaming–

"NO!" I shouted, the terror following me into waking, gripping my chest so hard it felt as if I couldn't breathe, my throat choking, eyes filling with water.

"No," I said again, more quietly.

The house was silent and dark. I listened for a moment, but nothing stirred, no sound from Mum or Nonno. I squinted through the darkness to the clock on the DVD player.

12.07. Of course it was.

I listened hard into the silence. But nothing happened. I didn't hear my name, I didn't hear the creak of wood.

Maybe it wasn't going to come tonight.

12.08, read the clock.

12.09.

Feeling vaguely angry, I got up and went into the kitchen. I looked out of the window.

The monster was standing in his back garden.

 _What took you so long?_ it asked.

– • –

 _It is time for me to tell you the first story_ , the monster said.

I didn't budge an inch from the garden chair, where I had sat myself down after getting outside. My legs were pulled up tightly to my chest, where I could feel my heart thudding wild and loud. No fear, but only an indistinct feeling of something of excitement and nervousness.

 _Are you listening?_ the monster asked.

"No," I replied swiftly.

The air swirled around me violently. _I will be listened to!_ started the monster. _I have been alive as long as this land and you will pay the respect owed to me_ –

I got up from the chair and headed back towards the kitchen door, having heard enough. Honestly, how did some holier-than-thou ugly tree possibly expect me to give it, a talking plant, respect?

 _Where do you think you're going?_ demanded the monster.

I whirled round, and I was so furious, so pained, that the monster actually stood up straight, its huge, leafy eyebrows raising in surprise.

"What do _you_ know?" I spat venomously. "What do you know about _anything_?"

 _I know about_ you _, Lovino Vargas_ , the monster said.

"No, you don't," I retorted. "If you did, you'd know I don't have time to listen to stupid, boring stories from some stupid, boring tree that isn't even real–"

 _Oh?_ said the monster. _Did you dream the berries on the floor of your room?_

"Who cares even if I didn't?!" I shouted back. "They're just stupid berries. Woo-hoo, _so scary_. Oh, please, please, save me from the berries!" This was some prick that my mind was imagining.

The monster looked at me quizzically. _How strange_ , it said. _The words you say tell me you are scared of the berries, but your actions seem to suggest otherwise._

"You're as old as the land and you've never heard of sarcasm?" I asked.

 _Oh, I have heard of_ _it_ , the monster said, putting its huge branch hands on its hips, as if it was angry at me. _But people usually know better than to speak it to me._

"Can't you just leave me _alone_?"

The monster shook its head, but not in answer to my question. _It is most unusual_ , it said. _Nothing I do seems to make you frightened of me._

"You're just a _tree_ ," I announced, and there was no other way I could think about it. Even though it walked and talked, even though it was bigger than the house and could swallow me in one bite, the monster was still, at the end of the day, just a yew tree. I could even see more berries growing from the branches at its elbows.

 _And you have worse things to be frightened of_ , said the monster, but not as a question.

I glared at the ground, then up at the moon, anywhere but at the monster's eyes. The nightmare feeling was rising in me, turning everything to darkness, making everything seem heavy and impossible, like I had been asked to lift a mountain with my bare hands and no one would let me leave until I did.

"I thought," I articulated slowly, but had to cough before speaking again. "I saw you watching me earlier when I was fighting with my Nonno and I thought…"

 _What did you think?_ the monster asked when I didn't finish.

"Forget it," I relented, turning back towards the house.

 _You thought I might be here to help you_ , the monster said.

I paused.

 _You thought I might have come to topple your enemies. Slay your dragons._

I still didn't look back. But I didn't go inside either.

 _You felt the truth of it when I said that you had called for me, that you were the reason I had come walking. Did you not?_

I turned round. "But all you want to do is tell me _stories_ ," I said, but I couldn't keep the evident disappointment out of my voice, because it was true. I had thought that. I had hoped that. What other use was there for a larger-than-life monster?

It knelt down so its face was close to mine. _Stories of how_ I _toppled enemies,_ it said. _Stories of how_ I _slew dragons._

I batted my eyes in satire at the monster's serious gaze.

 _Stories are wild creatures_ , the monster said. _When you let them loose, who knows what havoc they might wreak?_

The monster looked up and I followed its gaze. It was looking at my bedroom window. The room where Nonno now slept.

 _Let me tell you a story of when I went walking_ , the monster said. _Let me tell you of the end of a wicked queen and how I made sure she was never seen again._

I swallowed and looked back at the monster's face.

"Go on," I said.

AN Yay the first tale is near.


	4. Lives Wasting Away

Summary: Seven minutes past midnight, a monster comes walking. Walking right up to my window and destroying my house then eating me alive. But I'm not scared of some mock-monster, because I've faced worse. Now why is this self-righteous monster telling me that I have to tell it the truth? What truth? I just know that I hate my life.

Disclaimer: I really just took the story, 'A Monster Calls' from Patrick Ness and just added my own twists to it. Plus these characters belong to Hidekaz Himaruya.

Last Chapter Summary: So the monster is going to tell me stories. Three to be exact. Then I have to tell it one story too? I don't really know what the moster is going on about but right now I have to move in with Nonno, my weird Italian grandfather who seems to be an artifact himself. And the madness begins, for the first tale is about to start.

 **The First Tale**

 _Long ago,_ the monster said, _before industrialization with concrete and glass,_ _it was a white place. Snow and ice covered every hill and forest and fell continuously every day._

 _This was a powerful kingdom._

("What?" I doubtfully looked around the back garden. "Here? In this kind of climate? I've never seen snow in my life.")

(The monster cocked its head at him curiously. _You have not heard of it? It was lifetimes and generations ago, but it was widely renowned for its strength and fortitude_ )

("Not a kingdom around here, no," I answered. "We don't even have a McDonald's.")

 _Nevertheless,_ continued the monster, _it was a kingdom, large but terror-stricken, for the horrible king was feared by most, a man who had his mind and sanity ripped to pieces even before his ascension to the throne from scarring battles and torturous events from when he was crown prince and the land was in many wars. He was known as General Winter even by his subjects, for his aura was freezing and was said to have been the cause for every blizzard that struck the kingdom. After he was made king, the land settled into doubtful peace for a full decade, before war struck again._

 _At that point, the king had four strong sons, all supposedly birthed from a quiet wife that remained largely unknown to the public. All four had to go into battles against giants and dragons, battles against black wolves with red eyes, battles against armies of men led by great wizards._

 _These battles secured the kingdom's borders once again and brought peace to the land, it being larger than ever before. But victory came at a price. One by one, the king's four sons had been killed. By the fire of a dragon or the hands of a giant or the teeth of a wolf or the spear of a man. One by one, all four princes of the kingdom fell, leaving the king only one prince and two princesses. His infant grandson and two battles secured the kingdom's borders but left the population terrified for what was to come without apparent heirs to the throne._

("This is all sounding pretty fairy tale-ish," I said, suspiciously.)

( _You would not say that if you heard the screams of a man killed by a spear,_ said the monster. _Or his cries of terror as he was torn to pieces by wolves. Now be quiet._ )

 _By and by, the king's wife succumbed to grief, as did the mothers of the young prince and princesses. The king was left with only the children for company, along with more sadness than one man should bear alone. It was that that was thought to be the straw that broke the camel's back, for the kingdom fell into further despair in the years to come._

 _The infant grandson was never seen again until the year before his crowning, which would take place on his eighteenth birthday. The elder princess was sent away to a bordering kingdom when she turned eight, but the younger remained in the cold and empty walls of the castle._

 _With the royal family practically vanished, the subjects of the kingdom had begun to mutter. There was talk about how the crown prince was whisked away to be taught how to summon blizzards and hailstorms, and the freezing year-long winters were brought on by the king's wrath when the boy failed to do as asked. With the people dying due to the unnaturally cold and lengthy winters, fear of the mighty General turned into anger and wrath. People were rioting and planning to storm the castle; to kill the royal family and end their grief. And that was when the heir was brought out._

("What a terrible king," I muttered. "He should be overthrown.")

 _To the people, he seemed to be an ice prince straight from a fairytale. He possessed unnatural beauty- his hair was like freshly fallen snow, his violet eyes were bewitching and his skin looked to be covered with a frosty sheen of ice. The country was immediately taken with the prince, and believing he held the powers to control the winters, begged him to save the country. They all thought that the king was the reason for the long-lasting winters that was spread all over the large kingdom and even to the neighbouring kingdoms, all except for the small kingdom that the elder princess stayed in._

 _When nothing failed to happen but instead the freezing temperatures dropped lower, it was arranged for the royal family to be killed, and the elder princess to be brought back to rule the kingdom with the thought that she held powers that opposed that of the icy king and supposedly also the prince. Three servants were to work within and allow the rebelling commoners in to enact the plan._

 _But that scheme failed. One of the servants had fallen in love with the remaining princess and had warned her, in hopes that she would escape by herself, for he thought that she was an innocent. Instead she killed him and told her brother in turn. They ran away together into a conifer forest, stopping only at dawn to sleep in the shade of a giant yew tree._

("You?" I asked.)

( _Me_ , the monster said. _But also only part of me. I can take any form of any size, but the yew tree is a shape most comfortable._ )

 _The next morning, they had an argument about what to do next. The prince wanted to go to live with the elder princess but the princess wanted to wait for the king to be killed and for them to rule as king and queen._

 _The princess loved her brother to the point of obsession, but the prince was highly against them marrying. He instead wanted to meet his elder sister whom he thought must have had the powers of light and new life. He wanted sunshine and warmth. She wanted to rule the kingdom._

("Them together as king and queen? That's incest! That doesn't even sound like love anyways, she just sounds like some power-crazy princess!" I spluttered in disgust, but the monster kept talking.)

 _Their differing views led to a fight, where eventually the prince was pushed down a hill and fell unconscious with grave injuries. The princess left with his body deep in the snow._

("Where he would die… And the princess would be able to rule as queen unchallenged," I inferred, making a disgusted sound. "I hope this story ends with you ripping her head off.")

 _The great yew tree was near enough to his body that he could turn to it for help. He did so subconsciously, for he was nowhere near the world of the waking._

 _Now, the world was younger then. The barrier between things was thinner, easier to pass through. This allowed for the prince's subconscious thoughts to reach me._

(The monster paused.)

("What was in his thoughts?" I asked.)

( _Enough to bring me walking_ , the monster said. _I know injustice when I see it._ )

("So you healed the prince and killed the king and younger princess," I guessed.)

 _There was a mob at the gates of the castle when I saw it. The crowd grew wilder when they saw the great Green Man walking behind him, high as the hills, coming for vengeance._

(I glanced at the monster's massive arms and legs, at its raggedy, toothy mouth, at its overwhelming _monstrousness_. I imagined what the king must have thought when he saw it coming. I smiled, just a bit.)

 _The subjects stormed the castle with such fury that the stones of its very walls tumbled. Fortifications fell and ceilings collapsed and when the king was found in his chambers, the mob seized him and dragged him to the stake right then to burn him alive, in order to rid of his curse on the land. And I made sure he was never seen again._

("Good," I said, smirking. "He deserved it." I looked up at my bedroom window where Nonno slept. "I don't suppose you can help me with him?" I asked. "I mean, I don't want to burn him alive or anything like that, but maybe just–")

 _The story,_ said the monster, _is not yet finished._

 **The Rest of the First Tale**

"It mostly is," I said. "The worthless king was overthrown. All that's left is for the princess to be killed and for some good peasant to become king, as they always do. The prince would live in peace with his good sister and it'll be happily ever after."

 _Don't put words into my mouth_ , warned the monster. _I never said any of that._

I hesitated, confused. "You said you made sure he was never seen again."

 _And so I did. When the villagers lit the flames on the stake to burn him alive, a sudden hailstorm poured down on them and I reached in to save him._

"You _what_?" I said in disbelief.

 _I took him and carried him far enough away so that the villagers would never find him, far beyond even the kingdom of his birth, to a village deep in the snowy mountains. And there I left him, to live in peace, surrounded by those like him._

 _The rioting and plotting villagers were all destroyed, by me, and so the younger princess was able to rise to the throne with no opposition, to become the queen._

I got to my feet, my voice rising in incredulity. "But he caused all the villagers to die! Even if he wasn't the cause of the unnatural cold he didn't do a single thing to save the villagers. How could you possibly save a murderer? And not to mention the power-hungry princess who left the prince to _die,_ was allowed to be the ruler of thousands. _._ " I took a step back. "You really are a monster."

 _I never said he didn't fulfill his duties as king_ , the monster said. _I only said that he had disappeared from sight for the 16 years that it took for the prince to grow up._ _The princess didn't want the prince to die when she left him either. Remember, she loved him._

I crossed my arms. "So why did so many people die then? Why did the princess even fight with him in the first place?"

The monster opened its huge hands in a certain way, and a breeze blew up, bringing a mist with it. The house was still behind me, but the mist covered the back garden, replacing it with a field of ice and snow, with a small boy and a man, both swaddled in thick coats and clothing.

 _General Winter, as his name suggested, really did have the power to influence the winters. It was equally a curse as it was a blessing however, because he himself could not control his powers. After his first battle, he had found it harder to maintain control over the ice and snow. With each scarring battle, more and more of his ability to manage his powers was lost. It reached the breaking point with the final war, where majority of his family was lost. It spiralled downwards ever since, causing the kingdom and the neighbouring kingdoms to be engulfed in long winters._

 _The grandson was similarly born with such powers, and was therefore taken away to be trained in secret. He was raised with no love or kindness from the king, and it was only with the fleeting moments when he was allowed to be with his sisters that he could feel a family's love. Even with that, his elder sister was sent away because she held powers opposite of the prince. Thus, they could not be near each other, especially with their powers increasing as they aged._

In the mist, amongst the white snow, two little girls appeared. The smaller one hid behind the larger girl, who was holding her arms out to the young prince. The snow was melted in a small circle around them. They moved towards each other, possibly for physical affection, but the prince was dragged away by the man before they were allowed to touch.

 _This final separation caused a deep sadness within the prince. The powers was pushing him to violence, to rage and lash out, and without any opposing feelings he drowned in anger and jealousy, for he could not have the warmth of a human touch in the winter land. He caused the great, long lasting winters that led to the deaths of thousands._

I watched as the young prince grew to older, that he was dwarfing me in size. He was clearly pained, but had a small, eerie smile splayed across his face. Audible shouts of an unknown language and loud laughs sent shivers down my spine. The king stood off to the side, watching on. And then they started to fight. It was a vicious dance of flurries of snow and spikes of ice.

 _The king had to spend his time fighting against the prince, so as to temper their uncontrollable powers that caused the misery of many. The growing princess was placed in charge of many of the kingdom's matters in place of the otherwise occupied king. She was the one that allowed for so many to die._

"Then why would you let her become the queen? Heck, you should have just killed everyone and that would be the end." I couldn't understand where this story was going. All it was was a subaverage story that had a whole bunch of plot twists added to it at the last minute to give it more zest. It was terrible, to say.

 _Let me finish before you open that mouth of yours._

 _The prince was brought back to the kingdom because the wind carried the whispers of rebellion to the king's ears. He had take continue his reign if only to salvage whatever remnants of his kingdom that he still had. The problem of unmanageable powers mostly belonged to the king at that point of time, for the prince had managed to better reign in his emotions. The princess was ecstatic, but the prince was not. He longed for his other sister, the one who emanated warmth and brought feelings of something indescribably pleasant to grow within him. And his other sister was jealous of that._

 _The years of distance made feelings of sisterly love touched with desperation for escape from loneliness fester into obsessive adoration. She wanted for him to be tied down to her for life, where he could never leave her. And therefore she wanted them to be married, and the only way to that was the throne. Only General Winter stood in her way._

 _The prince himself knew this, which caused him to separate himself from her. His mask of smiles was fragile at best and any raging emotions would undoubtedly cause him to go off. He could not afford for him to be with his turbulent sister. In the meantime, the king's efforts at control was crumbling with each day due to stress from ruling the failing kingdom. The prince and princess had realized this._

 _When she told him of the plots to kill them, he had to run away with her then, for he knew it was unavoidable. They had vastly differing views however, which led to that argument. His powers were not fully under his control however, and his sister was aware of that. He was close to allowing his powers to explode within him, which led to her pushing him off the hill in the hopes that he would fall unconscious. She knew that he could not die of the cold nor could his injuries kill him and so she left him unwillingly because she needed to find her sister in the next kingdom._

 _It was in that timespan that I was reached, and so I came walking._

 _Winter sprites had no business causing such large born misery and distress to humans. Whichever way, I knew that the king was undeserved of being killed._

"But why? He could have ran away to some inhabited place and caused misery for solely himself. Entire families were dying because he remained the king. How is that not injustice?"

 _The king was an abominable one, but what he was not, was a murderer. He may have been apathetic to the needs of his people, and could have been too power-hungry to step down from the throne, but he did not deserve to die._

"Then how do you explain the princess becoming queen? She still seems atrocious to me."

 _And so she was. She ruled with an iron fist and had just as little emotions for the people that her grandfather had. Her life was long, and along the way she married without love to the king of a neighbouring kingdom, and produced a long line of heirs that were sometimes just, sometimes corrupt, but always human._

"Then why? Why did you allow her to become queen?" No matter how much I looked at it, the story was puzzling in the way that I could find no meaning, no protagonist nor antagonist.

 _She allowed her brother to go wherever he wanted, and that was all that mattered. She came to understand that she couldn't hold him down when she went to her sister._

"What is this story about then? What's the lesson in this? The resolution?"

I heard a strange rumbling, different from before, and it took me a minute to realize the monster was _laughing_. Yes, it laughed for that long without me realising what it was doing. It could have been attempting to dance the salsa for all I knew.

 _You think I tell you stories to teach you_ lessons? the monster said. _You think I have come walking out of time and earth itself to teach you a_ lesson _on how to be nice and fair_?

It laughed louder and louder again, until the ground was shaking and it felt like the sky itself might tumble down.

 _It is a_ true _story,_ the monster said, finally calming down. _Many things that are true feel like a cheat. Kingdoms get the rulers they don't deserve, helpless people die for no reason, and sometimes evil merit saving. Quite often, actually. You'd be surprised._

I glanced up at my bedroom window again, imagining Nonno sleeping in my bed. "So how is that supposed to save me from him?"

The monster stood to its full height, looking down on me from afar. And then I woke up.

12.07, read the clock.

I cursed. "Am I dreaming or not?"

I stood up angrily–

And immediately stubbed my toe.

"What _now_?" I grumbled, leaning over to flick on a light.

From a knot in a floorboard, a fresh, new and very solid sapling had sprouted, about a foot tall.

I stared at it for a while. Then I went to the kitchen to get a knife to saw it out of the floor.

 **Understanding**

"I forgive you," Bella told me, catching up with me on the walk to school the following day.

"For what?" I asked, not looking at her. I was still irritated at the monster's story, from the cheating and twisting way it went, none of which was any help at all. I had spent half an hour sawing the surprisingly tough sapling out of the floor and had felt as though I'd barely fallen asleep again before it was time to get up, something I had only found out because Nonno had shaken me awake. And he usually only woke in the afternoon. He should have stayed asleep. He wouldn't even let me say goodbye to Mum, whom he said had had a rough night and needed her rest. Which made me feel slightly guilty because if she had had a rough night, then _I_ should have been there to help her, not Nonno who was and should be barely in our lives.

"I forgive you for getting me in trouble," Bella soothed, as if I was some baby to be coddled.

"You got yourself in trouble," I said. "You're the one who pushed Gilbert over."

"I forgive you for _lying_ ," Bella said, her chocolate-brown curls bobbing in the wind.

I just kept on walking.

"Aren't you going to say you're sorry back?" Bella asked after a long minute.

"Nope," I said simply.

"Why not?" She just couldn't get it.

"Because I'm _not_ sorry," I said for the upteenth time.

"Lovino-"

"I'm not sorry," I repeated, stopping, "and _I_ don't forgive _you_."

We glared at each other in the cool morning sun, neither wanting to be the first to look away.

"My dad said we need to make allowances for you," Bella finally admitted. "Because of what you're going through."

And for a moment, the sun seemed to go behind the clouds. For a moment, all I could see was sudden thunderstorms on the way, could _feel_ them ready to explode in the sky and through my body. I rarely snapped at girls, but I felt that I could make an exception for Bella then.

"Lovino?" Bella said, startled.

"Your dad doesn't know _anything_ ," I said. "And neither do you."

I walked away from her, fast, leaving her behind.

– • –

It was just over a year ago that Bella had told a few of her friends about my mum, even though I hadn't said she could. Those friends told a few more, who told a few more, and before the day was half through, it was like a circle had opened around me, a dead area with me at the centre, surrounded by landmines that everyone was afraid to walk through. Oh boohoo if I heard that someone's mum had cancer I wouldn't do a thing different. Why in the world did people do it in the first place?

But all of a sudden, the people I had _thought_ were my friends would stop talking whenever I stepped a foot near them, not that there were many beyond Bella anyway, but still. I had had some semblance of vague friend-acquaintance relationships, but they all disappeared that day. I'd catch people whispering as I walked by in the corridor or at lunch, as if that'd make me hear them any less. Even teachers would get a different look on their faces I put my hand up in class, rare as that was. or when I found myself falling asleep and opening my eyes to look right at their faces staring right back at me.

So eventually I stopped bothering to do anything involving other people, stopped looking up at the whispers, and even stopped putting up my hand. I stopped caring. Who cares whether I submit homework late, or even at all. Who cares if I sleep right through boring science class. Who cares whether I skip lunches because nobody cares. Nobody seemed to notice. It was like I had suddenly turned invisible.

I hated it.

It didn't end with that year, when the long-awaited summer break came along and passed by in a daze. Mum was still knee-deep into her treatments, which she'd said over and over again were rough but "doing the job", the long schedule of them nearing its end. The plan was that she'd finish them, a new school year would start, and they'd be able to put all this behind them and start afresh, except it hadn't worked out that way. Mum's treatments had carried on longer than they'd originally thought, first a second round and now a third. The teachers in the new year were even worse because they only knew me by my mum and didn't care who I actually was. Even the new art teacher was like that- he only ever gushed out praises that drowned in sugar even when I don't even try anymore. I stopped trying after the first time with the new teacher. And the other kids still treated me like _I_ was the one who was ill, especially since Gilbert and Francis had singled me out.

And now Nonno was hanging around the house and I was dreaming about trees. Or maybe it wasn't a dream. Which would actually be worse. Who wanted grumpy old trees to poison their sleep with threats and orders to listen to stories?

I stomped my way to school. It was Bella's fault and I was never going to forgive her for making my life the way it is now. I blamed Bella, because who else was there?

This time, Gilbert's fist was in my stomach.

I fell to the ground, scraping my knee on the concrete step, tearing a hole in my uniform trousers. The hole was the worst part of it. I couldn't sew to save my life, much less my trouser's life. Nonetheless I still hissed at the perpetrator and bared my teeth in what I thought looked threatening.

"You're such a spaz, Vargas," Gilbert said, laughing behind me somewhere. "It's like you fall every day. Well, it's a good thing that you're such a pussy because you'd definitely need those nine lives then."

"You should go to a doctor for that," I heard Francis leer, "or maybe you could even see me."

"Maybe he's drunk on catnip," Gilbert said, and there was more raucous laughter.

"Stop being such absolute idiots for a while and maybe the world would have a much better IQ average," I flung back, readying myself for the pounce.

As I stood, I saw Bella against the school wall, her eyebrows furrowed and her face looking annoyingly similar to an elder sister which I definitely didn't want. She was with some other girls, heading back inside at the end of break time. She wasn't talking to them, just looking at me as she walked away.

"No help from Super Poodle today," Francis said, still _hon_ ing away.

"Lucky for you, Lovino," Gilbert said. I hadn't turned back to face them, but I could tell Gilbert wasn't laughing at Francis's joke. This was where the Albino Wonder Child usually sobered up miraculously, still annoying though he was. I called it the potato burnout. I watched Bella until she was gone.

"Hey, _look_ at us when we're talking to you," Francis said, burning from Gilbert's off comment no doubt and grabbing my shoulder, spinning me around.

"Don't touch him," Gilbert said, calm and low, but so ominously that Francis immediately stepped back, perverted hands wandering as they were. "Pretty little Italian lover boy here and I have an understanding," Gilbert continued. "I'm the only one who touches him. Isn't that right?"

I waited for a moment and then slowly nodded. That did seem to be the understanding. As much a dirty old man in a teenager's body the French frog was, he generally didn't touch me, for reasons unfathomed.

Gilbert, his face still blank, his eyes still locked on mine, stepped up close to me. I didn't flinch, and we stood, eye-to-eye, while Francis looked on nervously.

He cocked his head slightly, as if a question had occurred to him, one he was trying to puzzle out. I still didn't move. The rest of our year had already gone inside. I could feel the quiet opening up around them. We would have to go soon. We needed to go _now_.

But nobody moved.

Gilbert raised a fist and pulled it back as if to swing it at my face.

I still didn't flinch. I didn't even move, just staring into his russet eyes, waiting for the punch to fall. But it didn't.

He lowered his fist, dropping it slowly down by his side, still staring at me. "Yes," he finally spoke, quietly, as if he'd worked something out. "That's what I thought." And then, once more, came the voice of doom.

"You boys!" Mr Germania called, though not even having to be loud to sound like he was shouting. He came across the yard towards them like terror on two legs. "Break was over three minutes ago! What do you think you're still doing out here?" He was always punctual to a point, a fixation that was inherited by the blond potato head but skipped right over the albino one.

"Sorry, Mr Germania," Gilbert said, his voice suddenly light. "We were discussing Ms Shell's Life Writing homework with Lovino here and lost track of time." He slapped a hand on my shoulder as if we were lifelong friends. "No one knows about stories like this Italian." He nodded seriously at Mr Germania. "And talking about it helps get it out of him."

"Yes," Mr Germania deepened his frown, "that sounds entirely likely. Everyone here is on first warning. One more problem today, and that's detention for all of you."

"Yes, Mr Germania," Harry said brightly, with Francis mumbling the same. They went on back to lessons, me following in step a metre behind.

"A moment please, Lovino," Mr Germania said.

I stopped and turned to him but didn't look up at his face, mostly because of the sun behind his head and certainly not because I found that it was scary, because that would mean that I found the potato heads scary too.

"Are you sure everything is alright between you and those boys?" Mr Germania said, putting his voice into its "kindly" mode, which served to be only slightly less scary than full-on shouting. His voice was certainly not supposed to have a "kindly" function.

"Yes, Sir," I said, still not looking at him.

"I'm not blind to how Gilbert works, as you know," he went on despite my tone clearly stating that I wanted the conversation over. "A bully with an overbearing personality and top marks is still a bully." He sighed, annoyed, though I'm not sure to whom that annoyance was directed to.

I said nothing, and the silence took on a particular quality, one I was familiar with, caused by how Mr Germania's body shifted forward, his shoulders dropping, his head leaning down towards mine. This was a different person than usual, but it was clearly recognisable.

I knew what was coming. I knew and hated it.

"I can't imagine what you must be going through, Lovino," Mr Germania said, so quiet it was almost a whisper, "but if you ever want to talk, my door is always open." It sounded forced out, as if he didn't want me to actually enter through the open door, which was understandable. Nobody wanted a problem child.

I couldn't look at him, couldn't see the care there, couldn't bear to hear it in his voice.

(Because I didn't deserve it.)

(The nightmare flashed, the screaming and the terror, and what happened at the end–)

"I'm fine, Sir," I mumbled, looking at my shoes. "I'm not going through anything."

After a second, I heard Mr Germania sigh again. "All right then," he said. "Forget about the first warning and come back inside." He patted me once on the shoulder and re-crossed the yard to the doors.

And for a moment, I was entirely alone.

I knew right then I could probably stay out there all day and no one would punish me for it. This somehow made the feeling in the pit of my stomach worse.

AN Can I just say something? The day I first posted this fic I got a huge shock because I did it on a Sunday, 26 June, but when I checked the traffic stats a couple hours later I saw that 5 people had viewed it on Saturday, 25 June... I was like WHATTTT until I realized time zone diff and all.


	5. Lives Away From Home

Summary: Seven minutes past midnight, a monster comes walking. Walking right up to my window and destroying my house then eating me alive. But I'm not scared of some mock-monster, because I've faced worse. Now why is this self-righteous monster telling me that I have to tell it the truth? What truth? I just know that I hate my life.

Disclaimer: I really just took the story, 'A Monster Calls' from Patrick Ness and just added my own twists to it. Plus these characters belong to Hidekaz Himaruya.

Last Chapter Summary: The first tale was a fairy tale gone wrong, where the evil? princess became the queen and the deadly king and prince escaped with their lives to live peacefully. Honestly I don't know what's up with that story. Back to real life, Bella and Gilbert are a right pain that I have to deal with.

 **Little Talk**

After school, Nonno was waiting for me on the settee.

"We need to have a talk," he said before I even got the door shut, and there was a look on her face that made him stop. A look that made my stomach hurt.

"What's wrong?" I asked, worried. If what he was going to say was just as bad as yesterday's affair, I had good reason to be worried.

He took in a long, loud breath through his nose and stared out of the front window, as if gathering himself. He looked like a bird of prey. A hawk that could carry off a sheep. This look reminded my of a long lost time… when I still stayed at his house with that smiling boy who-

"Your mother has to go back to the hospital," he broke the news. "You're going to come and stay with me for a few days. You'll need to pack a bag."

I didn't move. "What's wrong with her?"

Nonno's eyes widened for just a second, as if he couldn't believe I was asking a question so cataclysmically stupid. Then he relented. "There's a lot of pain, more than there should be."

"She's got medicine for her pain–" I started, but he clapped his hands together, just the once, but _loud_ , loud enough to stop me.

"It's not working, Lovino," he said, crisply, and it seemed like he was looking just over my head rather than at him. "It's not working-"

"What's not working?" I cut in.

Nonno tapped his hands together lightly a few more times, like he was testing them out or something, then went to look out of the window again, all the while keeping his mouth firmly shut. Then he finally stood, concentrating on smoothing down his trousers.

"Your mum's upstairs," he said. "She wants to talk to you."

"But–"

"Your father's flying in on Sunday."

I straightened up. " _Dad's_ coming?"

"I've got some calls to make," he said, stepping past me and out of the front door, taking out his mobile.

"Why is Dad coming?" I called after him.

"Your mum's waiting," he said, pulling the front door shut as he left.

I hadn't even had a chance to put down my rucksack.

My father was coming. From _America_. Possibly with Allison and their son. He hadn't come since the Christmas before last. My father, who I had grown used to not having around as the trips grew less frequent and the phone calls got further and further apart.

My father was coming. Why?

"Lovi?" I heard his mum call.

She wasn't in her room. She was in _mine_ , lying back on my bed on top of the duvet, gazing out of the window to the churchyard up the hill, with the yew tree. Which was just a yew tree.

"Hey, darling," she said, smiling at me from where she lay, but I could tell by the lines around her eyes that she really was hurting, hurting like I had only seen her hurt once before. She'd had to go into hospital then as well and hadn't come out for nearly a fortnight. It had been last Easter, and the weeks at Nonno's had almost been the death of them both.

"What's the matter?" I asked. "Why are you going back to hospital?"

She patted the duvet next to her to get him to come and sit down.

I stayed rooted to the ground. "What's wrong?"

She still smiled but it was tighter now, and she traced her fingers along the threaded pattern of the duvet, cartoon tomatoes that I had outgrown years ago. She had tied her red rose scarf around her head, but only loosely, and I could see her pale scalp underneath. I wondered how long it would take for her hair to grow back into those dark tresses that she would tie into a messy bun. Once she got better, at least.

"I'm going to be okay," she said. "I really am."

"Are you?" I asked.

"We've been here before, Lovi," she said. "So don't worry. I've felt really bad and I've gone in and they've taken care of it. That's what'll happen this time." She patted the duvet cover again. "Won't you come and sit down next to your mum?"

I swallowed, but her emerald eyes shone brighter, with hope possibly. I went over and sat next to her on the side facing the window. She pulled me into a hug, and I was startled when I so easily shot out of her grip. She used to have an iron grip, from working on the large gardens back at Nonno's. She instead started to run her hand through my hair, lifting it out of my eyes, and I could see how skinny her arm was, almost like it was just bone and skin.

"Why is Dad coming?" I asked, slightly apologetic.

Mum paused, then put her hand back down into her lap. "It's been awhile since you've seen him. Aren't you excited?"

"Nonno doesn't seem too happy."

She snorted. "Well, you know how he feels about your dad. Never did forgive him for leaving me after all our fights. Don't listen to him. Enjoy his visit."

We sat in silence for a moment. "There's something else," I finally said. "Isn't there?"

I felt Mum sit up a little straighter on my pillow. "Look at me, Lovi," she said, gently.

I turned my head to look at her, though I would have paid a million Euros not to have to do it.

"This latest treatment's not doing what it's supposed to," she said. "All that means is they're going to have to adjust it, try something else."

"Is that it?" I asked.

She nodded. "That's it. There's lots more they can do. It's normal. Don't worry."

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Because," and here I stopped for a second and looked down at the floor. "Because you could tell me, you know."

And then I felt her arms around me, her thin, thin arms that used to be so soft when she hugged me. I didn't push away this time, but instead buried my face into her shoulder, where her hair would usually tickle my nose. I could feel my eyes starting to gloss over and my throat tightening. Blinking furiously, the tears only started to flow. She didn't say anything, just held onto me.

I released her after what must have been at least five minutes, and went back to looking out of the window and after a moment, Mum turned to look, too.

"That's a yew tree, you know," she finally said.

I rolled my eyes, but not in a bad way. "Yes, Mum, you've told me a hundred times."

"Keep an eye on it for me while I'm away, will you?" she said. "Make sure it's still here when I get back?"

And I knew this was her way of telling me that she _was_ coming back, so all I did was nod and we both kept looking out at the tree.

Which stayed a tree, no matter how long we looked.

 **Nonno's House**

Five days. The monster hadn't come for five days.

Maybe it didn't know where Nonno lived. Or maybe it was just too far to come. He didn't have much of a garden anyway, even though his house was _way_ bigger than ours. He'd crammed his back garden with Roman statues and a stone pond. Everything else was just brick paths and flowers in pots. No room for a tree at all. It didn't even have _grass_.

"Come on, wipe that frown off your face and _smile~_ ," Nonno said. "Your dad'll be here soon, and I'm going to see your mum."

"I wasn't frowning," I said, scowling. This man was too much like mum.

"Such a cute grandson I have." I glared at the approaching hand that reached out for my head until it retreated.

He then vanished into the house, and I slowly trudged after. It was Sunday, the day Dad would be arriving from the airport. He would come here and pick up I, they'd go and see mum, and then they'd spend some "father–son" time together. I was almost certain this was code for another round of We Need To Have A Talk.

Nonno wouldn't be here when Dad arrived, which suited everyone.

The house was a mess as usual. A homey kind of mess, that emanated comfort to those staying within. It held many dated antiques and the sword on the wall was larger than I remembered. My Nonno's life was a dream, where the days of his youth were worthy to be written about and his life of retirement was to be envied. He usually didn't even let any of his… _woman-friends_ … follow him into the house, except for that recurring woman of Grecian origin, if I wasn't wrong.

"A man my age, living alone," he said, at least once a day, "I should be carefree and content."

And that was how he came to be sleeping in everyday and lazing around like a cat. Or at least how it used to be.

He now drove me to school, and I got there early every single day, even though it was a forty-five minute drive. He was also waiting for me every day after school when I left, taking us both straight to the hospital to see mum. We'd stay for an hour or so, less if mum was too tired to talk – which had happened twice out of the previous five days – and then go home to Nonno's house, where we would take our late siestas.

"Now, Lovino," he said, "your father may not notice how tired your mum's been getting, okay? So we're going to have to work together to make sure he doesn't overstay his welcome. Not that _that_ 's been a problem."

He turned, gave me a flash of starfish hand as a cheery wave, and said, "Be good, bambino"

The door clattered shut behind him. I was alone in the house.

I went up to the guest room where I slept. Nonno kept calling it _my_ room, but I only ever called it the guest room, which always made him shake his head and mumble to himself.

But what did he expect? It didn't _look_ like my room. It didn't look like _anybody's_ room. The walls were bare white except for three different prints of sailing ships. The sheets and duvet covers were a bright, blinding white, too, and the only other piece of furniture was an oak cabinet big enough to have lunch in. This was the room which stood out from the rest.

It could have been any room in any home on any planet anywhere, but it just didn't belong here. I didn't even like _being_ in it, not even to get away from Nonno. I'd only come up now to get a book- not for studying, certainly. I fished one out of my bag and made to leave, glancing out of the window to the back garden as I went.

Still just stone paths and statues. Nothing looking back at me at all.

I slumped down on the settee, which had curved wooden legs so thin it looked like it was wearing high heels. Hanging over the mantelpiece was Nonno's prize clock, which no one but him could ever touch. Handed down from his own grandfather, apparently. It had a proper pendulum swinging underneath it, and it chimed, too, every fifteen minutes, loud enough to make you jump if you weren't expecting it.

The whole room was like a museum of how people lived in olden times. There wasn't even a television. That was in the kitchen and almost never switched on.

I read. What else was there to do?

I had hoped to talk to Dad on the phone before he flew out, but what with the hospital visits and the time difference and the new wife's convenient migraines, I was just going to have to see him when he showed up.

Whenever that would be. I looked at the pendulum clock. Twelve forty-two, it said. It would chime in three minutes.

Three empty, quiet minutes.

I was actually nervous. It had been a long time since I've seen Dad in person and not just on Skype. Would he look different? Would _I_ look different? Would he reject me and my personality like he used to?

And then there were the other questions. Why was he coming _now_? Mum didn't look great, looked even worse after five days in hospital, but she was still hopeful about the new medicine she was being given. Christmas was still months away and my birthday was already past. So why now?

I looked at the floor, the centre of which was covered in a very expensive, very old-looking oval rug. I reached down and lifted up an edge of it, looking at the wooden boards beneath. There was a something carved onto the floor.

I threw back the part of the rug which covered it. I was curious, I couldn't remember there being any carvings on the floor.

It was… a bunch of squiggly lines. What was it? It looked like it was drawn by a 3-year-old. But further up, I realised, hidden deeper underneath the rug, was another one.

Pasta. It was pasta.

Comparing it to the carving beneath it, the one above was definitely much nicer. Why pasta though? Maybe it was because it was easy to draw?

"Who… " I muttered to myself. There were some very faint memories now. A girl's voice squealing about pasta. No… it was a boy. Just one that sounded like a girl. "Who-"

I jumped as the doorbell went. I scrambled up after tossing the rug back into place and ran out of the sitting room, feeling a sudden shot of adrenaline. I opened the front door.

There was Dad looking totally different but exactly the same.

"Hey, son," he said, his voice still sounding utterly British and unchanged by America. Good.

 **Champ**

"How you hanging in there, champ?" his father asked him while they waited for the waitress to bring them their pizzas, by my wishes of course, since I knew that Dad was never fond of such food.

" _Champ_?" I asked, raising a sceptical eyebrow. It was an unusual replacement for the usual 'chap'.

"Sorry," he said, smiling bashfully. "America is a whole different language." Then he muttered something to himself, something about bloody yanks. I hoped to never hear him say such a word again, it sounded disastrous coming out of him.

I blew at my cappuccino, the worst thing about coffee around here was that they always served them too hot. Mum had been really poorly when they'd got to the hospital. She was so tired all she was really able to say was "Ciao, mio bambino," to me and "Hello, Arthur," to Dad before falling back to sleep. Nonno ushered us out moments later, a look on his face that even Dad wasn't going to argue with.

"Your mother is, uh," Dad said now, squinting at nothing in particular. "She's a fighter, isn't she?"

I shrugged.

"So, how are _you_ holding up, love?"

"That's like the eight hundredth time you've asked me since you got here," I said.

"Sorry."

"I'm _fine_ ," I breathed. "Mum's on this new medicine. It'll make her better. She looks bad, but she's looked bad before. Why is everyone acting like–?"

I stopped and downed my coffee in one shot.

"You're right, chap, you're absolutely right." He turned his wine glass slowly around once on the table. "Still," he said. "You're going to need to be brave for her, love. You're going to need to be real, real brave for her."

"You talk like American television."

His father laughed, quietly. "Your brother's doing well. Almost walking."

" _Half_ -brother," I said.

"I can't wait for you to meet Peter," he said. "We'll have to arrange for a visit soon. Maybe even this Christmas. Would you like that? You could also finally meet Allison in person, she's a real-"

I met his eyes and abruptly cut him off. "What about Mum?"

"I've talked it over with your Nonno. She seemed to think it wasn't a bad idea, as long as we got you back in time for the new school term."

I ran a hand along the edge of the table. "So it'd just be a visit then?"

"What do you mean?" Dad said, sounding surprised. "A visit as opposed to…" He trailed off, and I knew he'd worked out what I meant. "I–"

But I suddenly didn't want him to finish. "There's a tree that's been visiting me," he said, talking quickly. "It comes to the house at night, tells me stories."

Dad blinked, baffled. " _What_?"

"I thought it was a dream at first, but then I kept finding leaves when I woke up and little trees growing out of the floor. I've been hiding them all so no one will find out."

"Lovino–"

"It hasn't come to Nonno's house yet. I was thinking she might live too far away–"

"What are you–?"

"But why should it matter if it's all a dream, though? Why wouldn't a dream be able to walk across town? Not if it's as old as the earth and as big as the world–"

"Lovino, _stop_ this–"

" _I don't want to live with Nonno_ ," I said, my voice suddenly strong and filled with a thickness that felt like it was choking him. I kept my eyes firmly on the empty coffee cup, my left hand tightly gripping it. "Why can't I come and live with you? Why can't I come to America?"

Dad licked his lips. "You mean when–"

"Nonno's house is an old man's house," I said.

He gave another small laugh. "I'll be sure to tell her you called her an old man."

"The house is full of old, expensive stuff that I can't touch because it's _really old and expensive_ ," I said. "My room isn't my room. Half the house can't be accessed. And she doesn't have any internet."

"I'm sure we can talk to him about those things. I'm sure there's lots of room to make it easier, make you comfortable there. It was the place where you grew up after all."

"I don't _want_ to be comfortable there! I can barely remember that place!" I said, raising my voice. "I want my own room in my own house."

"You wouldn't have that in America. We barely have room for the three of us, love. Your Nonno has a lot more money and space than we do. Plus, you're in school here, your friends are here, your whole _life_ is here. It would be unfair to just take you out of all that."

"Unfair to who?" I asked.

He sighed. "This is what I meant," he said. "This is what I meant when I said you were going to have to be brave."

"That's what everyone says, as if it means anything."

"I'm sorry," his father apologised. "I know it seems really unfair, and I wish it was different–"

"Do you?"

"Of _course_ I do." He leaned in over the table. "But this way is best. You'll see."

I swallowed, still not meeting his eye. Then I swallowed again. "Can we can talk about it more when Mum gets better?"

Dad slowly sat back in his chair again. "Of course we can, buddy. That's exactly what we'll do."

I looked at him again. " _Buddy_?"

He smiled. "Sorry." He lifted his wine glass and took a drink long enough to drain the whole glass. He set it down with a small gasp, then he gave me a quizzical look. "What was all that you were saying about a tree?"

But the waitress came and silence fell as she put our pizzas in front of us. "Americano," I frowned, looking down at his. "If it could talk, I wonder if it would sound like you."

 **Americans Don't Get Much Holiday**

"Doesn't look like your Nonno's home yet," Dad said, pulling up the rental car in front of the house.

"He sometimes goes back to the hospital after I go to bed," I said. "The nurses let him sleep in a chair."

Dad nodded. "He may not like me," he said, "but that doesn't mean he's a bad man."

I stared out of the window at the house. "How long are you here for?" I asked. I'd been afraid to ask before now.

He let out a long breath, the kind of breath that said bad news was coming. "Just a few days, I'm afraid."

I turned to him. "That's _all_?"

"Americans don't get much holiday."

"You're not American."

"But I live there now." He smiled. "You're the one who made fun of my speech all night."

"Why did you come then?" I asked. "Why bother coming at all?"

He waited a moment before answering. "I came because your mum asked me to." He looked like he was going to say more, but he didn't.

I didn't say anything either.

"I'll come back, though," he said. "You know, when I need to." His voice brightened. "And you'll visit us at Christmas! That'll be good fun."

"In your cramped house where there's no room for me," I said.

"I–"

"And then I'll come back here for school."

"Lov–"

"Why did you come?" I asked again, my voice low.

He didn't answer. A silence opened up in the car that felt like they were sitting on opposite sides of a canyon. Then Dad reached out a hand for my shoulder, but I ducked it and pulled on the door handle to get out.

"Lovino, _wait_."

I waited but didn't turn around.

"You want me to come in until your Nonno gets home?" his father asked. "Keep you company?"

"I'm fine on my own," I said, and got out of the car.

The house was quiet when I got inside. Why wouldn't it be?

I was alone.

I slumped on the expensive settee again, listening to it creak as I fell back into it. I vaguely remembered the carving on the floor, but I left it for another day. The settee had such a satisfying sound that I got up and slumped back down into it again. I shot back up and jumped on it, the wooden legs moaning as they scraped a few inches across the floor, leaving four identical scratches on the hardwood.

I smiled to myself. That felt _good_.

I jumped off and gave the settee a kick to push it back even further. I was barely aware that I was breathing heavily. My head felt hot, almost like I had a fever. I raised a foot to kick the settee again.

Then I looked up and saw the clock.

Nonno's precious clock, hanging over the mantelpiece, the pendulum swinging back and forth, back and forth, like it was getting on with its own, private life, not caring about I at all.

I approached it slowly, my fists clenched. It was only a moment before it would _bong bong bong_ its way to nine o'clock. I stood there until the second hand glided around and reached the twelve. The instant the _bongs_ were about to start, I grabbed the pendulum, holding it at the high point of its swing.

I could hear the mechanism of the clock complaining as the first _b_ of the interrupted _bong_ hovered in the air. With my free hand, I reached up and pushed the minute and second hands forward from the twelve. They resisted but I pushed harder, hearing a loud _click_ as J did so that didn't sound especially good. The minute and second hands sprung suddenly free from whatever was holding them back, and I spun them around, catching up with the hour hand and taking it along, hearing more complaining half- _bongs_ and painful _clicks_ from deep inside the wooden case.

I could feel drops of sweat gathering on my forehead and my chest felt like it was glowing with heat.

(–almost like being in the nightmare, that same feverish blur of the world slipping off its axis, but this time _I_ was the one in control, this time _I_ was the nightmare–) The second hand, the thinnest of the three, suddenly snapped and fell out of the clock face completely, bouncing once on the rug and disappearing into the ashes of the hearth.

I stepped back quickly, letting go of the pendulum. It dropped to its centre point but didn't start swinging again. Nor did the clock make any of the whirring, ticking sounds it usually made as it ran, its hands now frozen solidly in place.

Oh no.

My stomach started squeezing as I realized what I'd done.

Oh, no, I thought.

Oh, _no_.

I broke it.

A clock that was probably worth more than Mum's whole beaten-up car.

Nonno was going to kill me, well he wouldn't actually kill me but- Then I noticed.

The hour and minute hands had stopped at a specific time.

12.07.

 _As destruction goes_ , the monster said behind me, _this is all remarkably pitiful._

I whirled around. Somehow, some way, the monster was in Nonno's sitting room. It was far too big, of course, having to bend down very, very low to fit under the ceiling, its branches and leaves twisting together tighter and tighter to make it smaller, but here it was, filling up every corner.

 _It is the kind of destruction I would expect from a_ _**boy**_ , it said, its leafy breath blowing back my hair.

"What are you doing here?" I asked. I felt a sudden surge of hope. "Am I asleep? Is this a dream? Like when you broke my bedroom window and I woke up and–"

 _I have come to tell you the second tale_ , the monster said.

I made an exasperated sound and looked back at the broken clock. "Is it going to be as bad as the last one?" I asked, distractedly.

 _It ends in proper destruction_ , _if that is what you mean._

I turned back to the monster. Its face had rearranged itself into the expression I recognized as the evil grin.

"Is it a cheating story?" I asked. "Does it sound like it's going to be one way and then it's a total other way?"

 _No_ , said the monster _. It is about a man who thought only of himself._ The monster smiled again, looking even more wicked. _And he gets punished very, very badly indeed._

I stood breathing for a second, thinking about the broken clock, about the scratches on the hardwood, about the poisonous berries dropping from the monster onto Nonno's clean floor.

I thought about my father.

"I'm listening," I said.

AN And so the destruction will begin.


	6. Bitter Lives

Summary: Seven minutes past midnight, a monster comes walking. Walking right up to my window and destroying my house then eating me alive. But I'm not scared of some mock-monster, because I've faced worse. Now why is this self-righteous monster telling me that I have to tell it the truth? What truth? I just know that I hate my life.

Disclaimer: I really just took the story, 'A Monster Calls' from Patrick Ness and just added my own twists to it. Plus these characters belong to Hidekaz Himaruya.

Last Chapter Summary: Talks. Last chapter was just full of them. All talk and no action, all bark but no bite. Whether it be Dad, Mum, Nonno or even a teacher, it's all the same coming from them. It's so irritating, but I think I let my frustration out on the wrong thing... Nonno's ancient clock...

AN: There are probably lots and lots errors in my pronouns (eg mixing up him for her) mostly because some of the original genders of the characters were switched and when I edited the story my eyes skipped over those little pronouns so if you see Nonno being called a her, know that it's just an error which I didn't edit out. Also sorry for OOCness.

 **The Second Tale**

 _One hundred and fifty years ago_ , the monster began, _this country had become a place of industry. Factories grew on the landscape like weeds. Trees fell, fields were up-ended, rivers blackened. The sky choked on smoke and ash, and the people did, too, spending their days coughing and itching, their eyes turned forever towards the ground. Villages grew into towns, towns into cities. And people began to live_ _**on**_ _the earth rather than_ _**within**_ _it._

 _But there was still green, if you knew where to look._

(The monster opened its hands again, and a mist rolled through Nonno's sitting room. When it cleared, the monster and I stood on a field of green, overlooking a valley of metal and brick.)

("So I _am_ asleep," I said.)

( _Quiet_ , said the monster. _Here he comes._ And I saw a small man with heavy, dark clothes, something like a robe, and with Asian features climbing the hill towards them.)

 _Along the edge of this green lived a man. His name is not important, as no one ever used it. The villagers only ever called him the Apothecary._

("The what?" I asked.)

( _The Apothecary_ , said the monster.)

("The what?")

 _Apothecary was an old-fashioned name, even then, for a chemist._

("Oh," I said. "Why didn't you just say?")

 _But the name was well-earned, because apothecaries were ancient, dealing in the old ways of medicine, too. Of herbs and barks, of concoctions brewed from berries and leaves._

 _Many a day the Apothecary went walking to collect the herbs and leaves of the surrounding green. But as the years passed, his walks became longer and longer as the factories and roads sprawled out of town like one of the rashes he was so effective in treating. Where he used to be able to collect paxsfoil and bella rosa before morning tea, it began to take him the entire day._

 _The world was changing, and the Apothecary grew bitter. He was out-of-place at that time. He was old-fashioned and seemed to charge too much for his cures, often taking more than the patient could afford to pay. Nevertheless, he was surprised at how unloved he was by the villagers, thinking they should treat him with far more respect. He even considered himself to be a brother to a large part of the village. But because his attitude was poor, their attitude towards him was also poor, until, as time went on, his patients began seeking other, more modern remedies from other, more modern healers. Which only, of course, made the Apothecary even more bitter._

(The mist surrounded them again and the scene changed. They were now standing on a lawn atop a small hillock. A parsonage sat to one side and a great yew tree stood in the middle of a few new headstones.)

 _In the Apothecary's village there also lived a Buddhist priest_

("This is the hill behind my house," I interrupted. I looked around, but there was no railway line yet, no rows of houses, just a few footpaths and a mucky riverbed.)

 _The priest had two sons,_ the monster went on, _who were the light of his life._

(Two young boys came screaming out of the parsonage, giggling and laughing and trying to hit each other with handfuls of grass. They ran around the trunk of the yew tree, hiding from one another. After they had calmed down it was more apparent that there was one boisterous, ever-cheerful one and the other was calmer and more prone to donning a scowl on his face. Next the scowling one, evidently the older one, started to chaste the younger although both of them had taken part in the fun. For some reason this entire spectacle caused a tugging at my heart, something akin to recognition. I cast my thoughts aside to look at the tree.)

("That's you," I said, pointing at the tree, which for the moment was just a tree.)

 _Yes, fine, on the temple grounds, there also grew a yew tree._

( _And a very handsome yew tree it was_ , said the monster.)

("If you say so yourself," I said.)

 _Now, the Apothecary wanted the yew tree very badly._

("He did?" I asked. "Why?")

(The monster looked surprised. _The yew tree is the most important of all the healing trees_ , it said. _It lives for thousands of years. Its berries, its bark, its leaves, its sap, its pulp, its wood, they all thrum and burn and twist with life. It can cure almost any ailment man suffers from, mixed and treated by the right apothecary._ )

(I furrowed his forehead. "You're making that up.")

(The monster's face went stormy. _You dare to question_ _**me**_ _, boy?_ )

("No," I said, stepping back at the monster's anger. "I'd just never heard that before.")

(The monster frowned angrily for a moment longer, then got on with the story.)

 _In order to harvest these things from the tree, the Apothecary would have had to cut it down. And this the priest would not allow. The yew had stood on this ground long before it was set aside for the temple. A graveyard was already starting to be used and a new temple building was in the planning stages. The yew would protect the temple from the heavy rains and the harshest weather, and the priest – no matter how often the Apothecary asked, for he did ask very often – would not allow the Apothecary anywhere near the tree. There was also the fact that the personal relationship between the two was hateful, for their family histories dated far back beyond that time._

 _Now, the priest was an enlightened man, and a kind one. He wanted the very best for his congregation, to take them out of the dark ages of superstition and witchery, but it was in those very ages that the Apothecary seemed to be living in. The priest preached against the Apothecary's use of the old ways, and the Apothecary's unappreciable ways made certain these sermons fell on eager ears. His business shrank even further._

 _But then one day, the priest's young sons fell sick. First the one, and then the other, with an infection that swept the countryside._

(The sky darkened, and I could hear the coughing of the sons within the parsonage, could also hear the loud chanting of the priest, which seemed to be of another language, and the tears of the priest's wife.)

 _Nothing the priest did helped. No prayer, no cure from the modern doctor two towns over, no remedies of the field offered shyly and secretly by his temple-goers. Nothing. The sons wasted away and approached death. Finally, there was no other option but to approach the Apothecary. The priest swallowed his pride and went to beg the Apothecary's forgiveness._

" _Won't you help my sons?" the parson asked, down on his knees at the Apothecary's front door. "If not for me, then for my two innocent boys."_

" _Why should I?" the Apothecary asked. "You have driven away my business with your preachings. You have refused me the yew tree, my best source of healing. You have turned this village against me."_

" _You may have the yew tree," the priest relented. "I will preach sermons in your favour. I will send my temple-goers to you for their every ailment. You may have anything you like, if you would only save my sons. They have their entire lives to live"_

 _The Apothecary was surprised. "You would give up everything you believed in?"_

" _If it would save my sons," the priest said. "I'd give up everything."_

" _Then," the Apothecary said, shutting his door on the priest, "there is nothing I can do to help you."_

("What?" I said.)

 _That very night, both of the priest's sons died._

(" _What?_ " I said again, the nightmare feeling taking hold of my guts.)

 _And that very night, I came walking._

("Good!" I shouted. "That stupid git deserves all the punishment he gets.")

( _I thought so, too_ , said the monster.)

 _It was shortly after midnight that I tore the priest's home from its very foundations._

 **The Rest of the Second Tale**

I whirled round. "The _priest_?"

 _Yes_ , said the monster. _I flung his roof into the dell below and knocked down every wall of his house with my fists._

The priest's house was still before them, and I saw the yew tree next to it awaken into the monster and set ferociously on the parsonage. With the first blow to the roof, the front door flew open, and the priest and his wife fled in terror. The monster in the scene threw their roof after them, barely missing them as they ran.

"What are you _doing_?" I said. "The Apotho-whatever is the bad guy!"

 _Is he?_ asked the real monster behind him.

There was a crash as the second monster knocked down the temple's front wall.

"Of course he is!" I shouted. "He refused to help heal the parson's daughters! And they _died_!"

 _The priest refused to believe the Apothecary could help_ , said the monster. _When times were easy, the parson nearly destroyed the Apothecary, but when the going grew tough, he was willing to throw aside every belief if it would save his daughters._

"So?" I said. "So would anyone! So would _everyone_! What did you _expect_ him to do?"

 _I expected him to give the Apothecary the yew tree when the Apothecary first asked._

This stopped I. There were further crashes from the parsonage as another wall fell. "You'd have let yourself be killed?"

 _I am far more than just one tree_ , the monster said, _but yes, I would have let the yew tree be chopped down. It would have saved the parson's daughters. And many, many others besides._

"But it would have killed the tree and made him rich!" I yelled. "He was evil!"

 _I did not say that he was an evil man. Yes, he was greedy and rude and bitter, but he was still a healer. The parson, though, what was he? He was_ _**nothing**_ _. Belief is half of all healing. Belief in the cure, belief in the future that awaits. And here was a man who_ _**lived**_ _on belief, but who sacrificed it at the first challenge, right when he needed it most. He believed selfishly and fearfully. And it took the lives of his daughters._

I grew angrier. "You said this was a story without tricks."

 _I said this was the story of a man punished for his selfishness. And so it is._

Seething, I looked again at the second monster destroying the parsonage. A giant monstrous leg knocked over a staircase with one kick. A giant monstrous arm swung back and demolished the walls to the parson's bedrooms.

 _Tell me, Lovino Vargas_ , the monster behind him asked. _Would you like to join in?_

"Join in?" I said, surprised.

 _It is most satisfying, I assure you._

The monster stepped forward, joining its second self, and put a giant foot through a settee not unlike my Nonno's. The monster looked back at I, waiting.

 _What shall I destroy next?_ it asked, stepping over to the second monster, and in a terrible blurring of the eyes, they merged together, making a single monster who was even bigger.

 _I await your command, boy_ , it said.

I could feel my breathing growing heavy again. My heart was racing and that feverish feeling had come over him once more. I waited a long moment.

Then I ordered, "Knock over the fireplace."

The monster's fist immediately lashed out and struck the stone hearth from its foundations, the brick chimney tumbling down on top of it in a loud clatter.

My breath got heavier still, like I was the one doing the destroying.

"Throw away their beds," he said.

The monster picked up the beds from the two roofless bedrooms and flung them into the air, so hard they seemed to sail nearly to the horizon before crashing to the ground.

"Smash their furniture!" I shouted. "Smash everything!"

The monster stomped around the interior of the house, crushing every piece of furniture it could find with satisfying crashes and crunches.

"TEAR THE WHOLE THING DOWN!" I roared, and the monster roared in return and pounded at the remaining walls, knocking them to the ground. I rushed in to help, picking up a fallen branch and smashing through the windows that hadn't already been broken.

I was yelling as I did it, so loud I couldn't hear himself think, disappearing into the frenzy of destruction, just mindlessly smashing and wrecking and demolishing, everything.

The monster was right. It was _very_ satisfying.

I screamed until I was hoarse, smashed until my arms were sore, roared until I was nearly falling down with exhaustion. When I finally stopped, I found the monster watching me quietly from outside the wreckage. I panted and leaned on the branch to keep myself balanced.

 _Now_ _**that**_ , said the monster, _is how destruction is properly done._

And suddenly they were back in Nonno's sitting room.

I saw that I had destroyed almost every inch of it.

 **Destruction**

The settee was shattered into pieces beyond counting. Every wooden leg was broken, the upholstery ripped to shreds, hunks of stuffing strewn across the floor, along with the remains of the clock, flung from the wall and broken to almost unrecognizable bits. So too were the lamps and both small tables that had sat at the ends of the settee, as well as the bookcase under the front window, every book of which was torn from cover to cover. Even the wallpaper had been ripped back in dirty, uneven strips. The only thing left standing was the display cabinet, though its glass doors were smashed and everything inside hurled to the floor.

I stood there in shock, then looked down at my hands, which were covered in scratches and blood, my fingernails torn and ragged, aching from the labour.

"Oh, my God," I whispered.

I turned round to face the monster.

Which was no longer there.

"What did you _do_?" I shouted into the suddenly too quiet emptiness. I could barely move my feet from all the destroyed rubbish on the floor. And rubbish they were, for I had just reduced things worth hundreds of thousands into _a pile of worthless garbage._

There was no _way_ I could have done all this myself.

No way.

(… was there?)

"Oh, my God," I said again. "Oh, my God."

 _Destruction is very satisfying_ , I heard, but it was like a voice on the breeze, almost not there at all.

And then I heard Nonno's car pull into the driveway.

There was nowhere to run. No time to even get out of the back door and go off on my own somehow, somewhere he'd never find me.

But not even my father would take him now when he found out what I had done. They'd never allow a boy who could do all this to go and live in a house with a baby– "Oh, my God," I said again, my heart beating nearly out of my chest.

My grandfather put his key in the lock and opened the front door.

In the split second after he came around the corner to the sitting room, still fiddling with his key stuck in the doorknob, before he registered where I was or what had happened, I saw his face, how tired it was, no news on it, good or bad, just the same old night at the hospital with my mum, the same old night that was wearing them both so thin.

Then he looked up.

"Che caz-?" he said, stopping himself by reflex from saying "cazzo" in front of I. He froze, still holding his keys in mid-air. Only his eyes moved, taking in the destruction of the sitting room in disbelief, almost refusing to see what was really there. I couldn't even hear him breathing.

And then he looked at me, his mouth open, his eyes open wide, too. He saw me standing there in the middle of it, my hands bloodied with my work.

His mouth closed, but it didn't close into its usual hard shape. It trembled and shook, as if he was fighting back tears, as if he could barely hold the rest of his face together. I was surprised that she could hold it together at all, for I knew I'd keel over after all the hospital visits and the pure loneliness-

And then he groaned, deep in his chest, his mouth still closed.

It was a sound so painful, I could barely keep myself from putting my hands over my ears. I had just destroyed his antiquities from his grandeur life past him. I couldn't even begin to imagine-

He made it again. And again. And then again until it became a single sound, a single ongoing horrible groan. His keys fell to the floor. He put his palms over his mouth as if that was all that would hold back the horrible, groaning, moaning, _keening_ sound flooding out of him.

"Nonno?" I said, my voice high and tight with terror.

And then he stilled, the groaning stopped.

The calm before the storm.

He took away his hands, balling them into fists, opened his mouth wide and roared. He let out a war cry so loudly I _did_ put my hands up to my ears. He wasn't looking at me, he wasn't looking at _anything_ , just up into the air.

I had never been so frightened in all of my life. It was like standing at the end of the world, almost like being alive and awake in my nightmare, the screaming, the _emptiness_ – Then he stepped into the room.

He kicked forward through the rubbish almost as if he didn't even see it. I backed away from him quickly, stumbling over the ruins of the settee. I kept a hand up to shield myself, expecting blows to land any moment– But he wasn't coming for me.

He walked right past me, his face twisted in tears, and let out another roar. He went to the display cabinet, the only thing remaining upright in the room.

And he grabbed it by one side–

And pulled on it hard, sending it crashing to the floor with a final-sounding _crunch_.

He gave a last breathy groan filled with so much emotion and pain and _loss_ then leant forward to put his hands on his knees, his breath coming in ragged gasps. It was the picture of a man who had lost _everything._ His daughter, son-in-law, grandchildren- _grandchildren?!_ No, just one grandson… And amongst all that, his memories of his past, his home and all of his strength.

He didn't look at me, didn't look at me once as he stood back up and left the room, leaving his handbag where she'd dropped it, going straight up to his bedroom and quietly shutting the door. There was no more sound.

I stood there for a while in utter silence, not knowing whether I should move or not. Whether I _could_ move or not.

After what seemed like forever, I went into Nonno's kitchen to get some empty bin liners. I worked on the mess late into the night, but there was just too much of it. Dawn was breaking by the time I finally gave up.

I climbed the stairs, not even bothering to wash off the dirt and dried blood. As I passed Nonno's room, I saw from the light under his door that he was still awake.

I could hear him in there, bemoaning his loss.

AN I think that their reactions would be quite legit, seeming as how everything has been building up but idk, it just feels right to me.


End file.
